THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


PREFACE. 


"SHILOH"  is  not  a  creation,  but  a  growth.  Begun 
with  no  other  design  than  to  furnish  a  few  sketchy,  ram- 
bling articles  to  a  weekly  paper,  it  grew — partly  in  .virtue 
of  its  own  vitality,  partly  in  obedience  to  the  wishes  of 
the  friends  which  it  made — into  a  connected  story,  with 
some  shadowings  forth  of  a  plot  and  a  purpose.  Had  such 
an  end  been  contemplated  from  the  beginning,  a  different, 
certainly  a  more  direct,  road,  would  have  been  taken  to 
reach  it. 

The  reader,  therefore,  will  not  look  for  a  novel  nor  a 
romance  in  the  present  work ;  but  simply  a  story  of  com- 
mon life,  as  life  commonly  runs,  without  intricate  plot, 
strict  unity,  or  close  sequence.  Its  object  is  twofold, — to 
make  real  and  vivid  to  the  apprehension  the  continual 
struggle  between  Good  and  Evil,  in  the  human  heart,  and 
to  give  some  quiet  pictures  of  New  England  farm  and 
parish  life.  To  these  last,  some  persons  have  insisted  upon 
assigning  an  actual  locality  and  living  models.  Recogniz- 
ing certain  of  the  natural  features  of  a  hamlet  familiar  to 
the  author's  youth,  and  a  few  outlines  of  actual  event, 
they  have  yet  failed  to  see  that  both  have  been  left  so  far 


2047312 


IV  PREFACE. 

behind,  by  the  constant  change  of  a  half-nomadic  life,  as 
to  have  slidden  into  that  fair  border-land  between  memory 
and  imagination,  where  the  Real  and  the  Ideal  become  in- 
distinguishably  blended.  Each  lends  to  each,  in  a  suffi- 
cient degree  to  give  life-likeness  to  the  one,  and  unreality 
to  the  other.  It  were  a  hopeless  task,  therefore  (for  the 
author,  not  less  than  for  others),  to  attempt  to  decide  in 
what  proportion  Fact  and  Fiction  should  divide  the 
sketches  between  them.  Let  "  Shiloh  "  be  read,  then, — 
especially  in  the  quarter  alluded  to, — as  a  work  of  pure 
fiction,  in  the  letter,  however  truthful  in  the  spirit. 
Any  other  course  would  be  a  grievous  wrong  to  the 
fanciful  part  of  the  narrative,  by  forcing  it  into  harsh 
contact  with  present  realities;  while  it  would  inevitably 
lead  to  mistakes  more  or  less  unjust  to  a  community  which 
the  author  holds  always  in  kind  remembrance. 

An  acknowledgment  remains  to  be  made.  Having 
imagined  an  artist's  studio,  it  became  necessary  to  hang 
its  walls  with  suitable  pictures.  These  were  found  in  a 
certain  New  York  studio,  and  quietly  appropriated.  The 
owner  will  be  surprised  to  see  them  transferred  to  these 
pages ;  others  will  observe  how  much  they  have  lost  in  the 
transference.  Those  who  know  him  best,  will  be  first  tc 
testify  that*  no  liberties  have  been  taken  with  the  artist's 
personality,  but  that  the  appropriations  have  been  confined 
wholly  to  his-  pictures ;  and  these  are  hereby  returned  to 
him,  with  thanks. 

HUDSON,  Oct.,  1870. 


COSTEOTS. 


I.  PITCHING  TENT, 7 

n.  A  NEW  ENGLAND  TEA-TABLE, 17 

III.  THE  WARRENS, .        .25 

IV.  THE  VIGIL, 80 

V.  SETTING  THE  EARTHLY  HOUSE  IN  ORDER,       .        .  42 

VI.  THE  REACTION, 55 

VII.  EXPLORATIONS  ;  RURAL,  MORAL,  AND  PAROCHIAL,  .  G3 

VIII.  THE  SEWING  SOCIETY, 77 

IX.  IN  OFFICE,    . 89 

X.  THE  MORNING  SERVICE, 104 

XI.  THE  SERMON, 117 

XII.  WOUNDS  AND  BALMS, 124 

XIII.  THE  DOVE  BEFORE  THE  ALTAR,       ....  131 

XIV.  DUST  TO  DUST, 142 

XV.  HERE  AND  THERE, 148 

XVI.  RUTH  WINNOT, 161 

XVII.  A  HISTORY, 170 

XVIII.  THE  Music  LESSON, .182 

XIX.  ALICE  PRESCOTT  IN  A  NEW  LIGHT;  ....  200 

XX.  THE  GWYNNE  PLACE, 211 

XXI.  SETTING  TO  RIGHTS  WITHOUT  AND  WITHIN,  .        .  219 

XXII.  DISCORDS, 227 

XXIII.  LEO, 240 

XXIV.  LIFE'S  QUIET  FLOW, 247 

XXV.  AMONG  THE  BRYERS  AND  THORNES,  ....  263 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PACK. 

XXVI.  SUNSET  PICTURES, 279 

XXVII.  IN  THE  BOWER, .        .286 

XXVIII.  DREGS, 297 

XXIX.  AN  AFTERNOON  AT  THE  SEWING  SOCIETY,       .        .    308 

XXX.  GATHERING  IN, 318 

XXXI.  THE  STOLEN  SKETCH, 334 

XXXII.  AN  ARTIST'S  STUDIO, 847 

XXXIII.  THE  UNOPENED  LETTER, 359 

XXXIV.  DAISY, 370 

XXXV.  A  VISIT  TO  THE  CITY,        .        .       .       .        .        .381 

XXXVI.  THE  TRUTH  AT  LAST,  . 387 

XXXVII.  THE  SUMMER'S  WORK, 392 

XXXVIII.  IN  ST.  JUDE'S, .        .401 

XXXIX.  A  REFLOW  OF  TROUBLE,     .  ....    412 

XL.  THROUGH  SHADOW  TO  LIGHT,    .  426 

XLI.  THE  EMPTY  CHAIR,     . 434 

XLII.  THE  TREACHEROUS  FLOWERS, 444 

XLIII.  THE  FINDING  OF  THE  CLUE, 451 

XLIV.  A  NOTE  OF  WARNING, 461 

XLV.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  HEAVINESS 463 

XLVI.  THE  CRY  IN  THE  NIGHT, 471 

XLVII.  STRIKING  TENT,  .       .  .480 


SHILOH. 


i. 


PITCHING   TENT. 

HAVE  turned  a  leaf  in  my  life's  book, 
dear  Francesca.  The  last  paragraph — broken 
short  off  in  its  joyous,  triumphant  flow,  and 
blurred  and  blotted  with  tears — is  covered  from 
sight.  Let  it  rest  in  peace. 
Here  begins  a  fresh  page. 
We  were  leaning  over  the  gate,  Bona,  Mala, 
and  I.  Do  you  need  to  be  introduced  to  these 
persons  of  the  drama  ?  Bona  is  my  alter  ego,  my  better 
self,  my  Mentor,  my  counsellor,  my  consoler, — or,  to  speak 
more  to  the  purpose,  the  grace  of  God  working  within  me. 
So  Mala  is  my  worst  self,  my  evil  genius,  by  turns  my 
tempter,  flatterer,  tormentor,  betrayer, — that  part  of  me 
which  Holy  Writ  declares  to  be  deceitful  above  all  things 
and  desperately  wicked.  And  the  entity  here  represented  by 
the  pronoun  "  I "  is  the  arbiter  between  the  two,  influenced 
by  both,  alternately  swayed  by  each,  yet  to  whose  decision 
either  must  submit  with  what  grace  she  is  able.  In  brief, 
"I"  repi-esents  the  Will-Power  of  the  concern. 

They  who  know  me  best,  never  behold  either  of  these 
characters  per  se,  but  a  mixture  of  the  three,  seen  darkly 
through  a  veil  of  reserve  which  is  common  to  all,  and  fur- 
ther colored  by  their  own  prejudices  and  prepossessions. 


3  SHILOH. 

Nevertheless,  these  personages  do  exist ;  leading  a  distinct 
and  highly  belligerent  existence  in  one  fleshly  tabernacle, 
and  making  themselves  manifest  through  one  set  of  human 
organs.  Occasionally,  one  sinks  into  a  state  of  passivity, 
and'  leaves  the  other  queen  regnant ;  but  their  normal  con- 
dition is  struggle,  conflict,  hand-to-hand  fight,  and  no  quar- 
ter. I  lead  an  unquiet  life  between  them,  made  endurable 
chiefly  by  the  reflection  'that  things  might  be  worse.  If 
Bona  were  to  depart,  and  leave  Mala  triumphant,  there 
would  be  dreary  deterioration,  and  sliding  down  slippery 
places,  for  me  here,  and  a  fearful  record  to  face  hereafter ; 
while  that  Mala  will  ever  go  forth,  shaking  "the  dust  from 
her  feet,  and  leave  Bona  and  me  to  keep  quiet  house  to- 
gether, is  not  to  be  hoped  for  until  "  this  mortal  shall  have 
put  on  immortality." 

I  make  no  apology  for  thus  taking  yo\i  into  the  heart  of 
things.  You  and  I  believe  that  no  chronicle  of  human  life 
is  complete,  which  deals  not  with  the  inner  strife  as  well  as 
with  the  outer  circumstance. 

Neither  Bona  nor  Mala  was  rampant  as  I  leaned  on  the 
gate,  and  looked  out  over  this  sunset-reddened  Shiloh ;  the 
sweet  signification  of  whose  name  had  so  touched  my  jaded 
heart  as  I  ran  over  the  boai'ding  agent's  list.  I  had  such 
sore  need  of  a  "  Place  of  Rest !  " 

"  Is  it  hill  country  or  plain  ?  "  I  asked  the  man. 

"  Hill  country,  ma'am.  You  climb  straight  up,  from 
Shiloh  Bridge,  for  three  miles  and  a  half.  When  I  went 
there,  I  had  a  mind  to  settle,  for  fear  I'd  never  get  any 
nearer  heaven." 

"  Is  it  quiet  ?  " 

"  Quiet  as  a  graveyard.  You'd  think  'twas  Sunday  all 
the  time." 

So  it  was  settled.  Aunt  Belle  was  most  graciously  ac- 
quiescent, after  a  polite  remonstrance  or  two; — doubtless, 
she  was  charmed  that  I  should  thus  voluntarily  remove  my- 
self from  her  orbit,  for  awhile.  Flora  pouted  and  gibed. 


SHILOH.  9 

Uncle  John  growled  good-naturedly  from  the  mist  of  busi- 
ness cares  and  projects  that  always  enveloped  him  ; — 

"  Nonsense,  child !  go  to  Saratoga  with  your  aunt  and 
cousin,  and  enjoy  yourself." 

"  But,  uncle,  I»  am  as  tired  of  enjoying  myself  as  ever 
was  a  convict  of  the  treadmill.  I  want  quiet  and  rest." 

Surprised,  Uncle  John  came  out  of  the  mist,  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  six  weeks,  brought  the  eyes  of  his  mind  to 
bear  on  me. 

"  I  should  think  you  did ! "  he  muttered,  after  a  brief 
inspection.  "  What  on  earth  have  you  done  with  your 
roses  ?  Why,  Belle,  the  child  is  as  pale  and  thin  as  a 
ghost !  What  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  uncle,"  I  hastened  to  say,  "  but  too  much  of 
Madame  La  Mode,  and  too  many  calls  and  balls  and  recep- 
tions. Only  let  me  go  to  Shiloh  for  the  summer,  and  I  will 
bring  you  back  my  roses,  in  the  fall." 

"  Be  off  with  you,  then !  and  mind  you  keep  your 
promise." 

Nineteen  twentieths  of  my  journey  were  performed 
swiftly  by  rail,  the  remaining  fraction  slowly  in  the  farm- 
er's wagon.  If  I  saw  anything  on  the  way,  I  forget  what 
it  was  ;  — my  mind  was  still  wandering,  in  a  dazed  and  aim- 
less manner,  among  the  ruins  of  the  Past. 

The  first  object  that  made  any  impression  on  my  con- 
sciousness, was  the  cheery,  kindly,  sensible  face  of  Mrs. 
Divine,  framed  in  the  dark  doorway  of  the  venerable  old 
farm-house,  to  whose  gate  the  lapse  of  an  hour  had  brought 
me.  She  led  me  to  a  large,  airy  chamber,  fragrant  with 
cleanliness,  and  of  a  most  comfortable  aspect,  and  left  me 
to  myself.  Which  opportunity  I  improved  by  taking  my- 
self to  task  for  my  moodiness  and  apathy.  "  That  dream 
is  over,"  I  said,  giving  myself  a  moral  shake ;  "  no  amount 
of  brooding  will  bring  it  back.  Now  you  have  to  do  with 
realities."  And  then  Bona,  Mala,  and  I,  strolled  out  to 
the  gate,  and  looked  about  us. 


10  SHILOH. 

Evidently,  Shiloh  was  neither  town  nor  village,  as  it 
presented  to  view  no  public-house,  nor  store,  nor  contigu- 
ity of  roofs ;  but  merely  an  ancient  neighborhood  of  well- 
to-do  farm-houses;  each  standing  apart  within  its  own 
principality'  of  orchards,  gardens,  cornfields,  meadows, 
barns,  stacks,  and  whatever  gives  the  broadest  idea  of  rural 
plenty;  and  all  with  a  certain  freshness  and  peacefulness 
about  them,  as  not- being  touched  by  the  dust,  nor  the  tur- 
moil, of  the  highway.  Right  before  me  rose  a  huge  ram- 
part of  a  hill ;  steep,  but  smooth  and  grass-grown  to  the 
top ;  where  its  vivid  green  met  the  rosy  horizon-line  of  the 
sky. 

On  its  left  crest,  a  farm-house,  painted  red,  dazzled  me 
with  the  splendor  of  its  sun-gilded  windows ;  and  be.low  it 
was  a  long  slope  covered  with  mosaic  work  of  corn -and 
potato  fields  and  orchards ;  falling  off  siiddenly  to  a  deep 
dell  or  ravine,  I  concluded, — for  I  saw  the  bossy  tops  of 
large  trees  just  beyond  the  corn,  and,  apparently,  on  a  level 
with  it.  On  the  right  crest,  a  small  white  church  lifted  a 
square  yard  of  belfry  and  a  modest  triangle  of  spire  into 
the  rose-ripples  of  the  sky;  and  a  bowed  and  decrepit 
school-house  crept  humbly  close  to  the  hill's  foot,  other 
shade  being  inscrutably  withheld  from  it  and  its  sun-burned 
occupants. 

"  A  cosy  and  a  peaceful  spot,"  said  Bona.  "  Brimful  of 
the  goodness  of  God,  and  nowise  spoiled  by  man.  There 
can  be  no  excuse  for  sinning  here." 

MALA.  And  every  excuse  for  rusting  and  rotting ;  not  a 
soul  worth  speaking  to  ;  none  of  that  inspiring  contact 
with  refined  and  cultured  minds,  which  is  the  great  advan- 
tage of  city  life. 

I  (sarcastically).  Such  as  a  morning  spent  with  Madame 
La  Mode,  settling  about  the  width  of  our  flounces  ! 

MALA  (taking  no  notice  of  the  interruption}.  To  be  sure, 
these  woods  and  rocks  are  well  enough  in  their  way,  and 
you  had  better  content  yourself  with  their  society. 


SHILOII.  11 

BOITA  (in  dismay).  I  hope  you  have  brought  no  phari- 
saical — that  is  to  say,  aristocratic — notions  hither.  Why, 
every  leaf,  laying  its  cheek  softly  to  its  neighbor  leaf,  every 
dew-drop,  caring  not  whether  it  falls  on  rosebud  or  potato 
stalk,  so  it  refreshes  something,  will  be  a  sharp  rebuke  to 
you. 

I.  Be  easy,  Bona ;  I  never  had  less  of  the  not-as-other- 
meii  spirit. 

MALA  (soothingly).  But  you  are  weary,  and  sore,  and 
sorrowful,  and  have  no  heart  for  society.  And  society  in 
Shiloh,  surely,  has  no  claim  upon  you.  It  did  without  you 
before  you  came,  and  need  not  miss  you  when  you  go. 
Lead  as  idle  and  isolated  a  life  as  you  please,  free  from  all 
bonds  and  burdens,  and  so  gather  strength  for  the  future's 
needs. 

BOXA.  An  idle,  isolated  life  never  gave  strength  to  any 
human  soul.  Bonds  and  burdens  are  ordained  of  God ;  and 
strength  is  found  in  bearing,  not  in  shirking,  them.  It  is  a 
good  and  safe  rule  to  sojourn  in  every  place  as  if  you  meant 
to  spend  your  life  there,  never  omitting  an  opportunity  of  do- 
ing a  kindness,  or  speaking  a  true  word,  or  making  a  friend ; 
seeds  thus  sown  by  the  wayside  often  bring  forth  an  abun- 
dant harvest.  You  might  so  spend  your  summer  among 
this  people,  that  they  and  their  descendants  should  be  bet- 
ter and  happier,  through  time  and  eternity,  for  your  works 
and  your  example. 

I  (uneasily).  Let  me  alone,  both  of  you.  I  do  not  mean 
to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  Mala,  by  putting  on  airs  in  this 
out-of-the-way  place.  Neither,  Bona,  did  I  come  here  with 
any  Quixotic  idea  of  reforming  or  elevating  a  community 
which  has  gotten  on  thus  far  without  me ;  and  will,  doubt- 
less, till  the  end  of  time.  I  came  here  for  rest,  and  I  must 
have  it.  Such  persons  as  I  meet  I  intend  to  treat  civilly — 
kindly,  if  you  will  have  rt  so, — but  I  will  not  be  drawn 
into  any  relations  which  must  force  me  into  action  now, 
and  may  be  inconvenient  entanglements  hereafter,  I  cle^ 


12  SHILOH. 

sign  to  make  friends  chiefly  with  woods,  and  meadows,  and 
brooks ;  to  study  good  Mrs.  Divine,  who  is  as  original  a 
character  as  can  be  found  outside  of  Dickens' s  stories  ;  and 
to  lead  a  leisurely,  thoughtful,  restful  life  under  this  moss- 
grown  old  roof — 

I  turned  to  get  a  clearer  idea  of  the  gray,  quaint,  weather- 
beaten  dwelling,  and  forgot  to  finish  my  sentence.  Its  side 
was  turned  toward  the  street,  showing  the  long  slope  of 
the  back  roof,  coated  all  over  from  high  ridge-pole  to 
low  eaves  with  a  soft,  verdant  mossiness,  and  mottled  with 
the  greenish-gray  growth  of  scaly  lichens, — all  fed,  doubt- 
less, by  mouldy  accretions  from  the  breath  of  bygone  gen- 
erations. The  ridge-pole  was  somewhat  depressed  in  the 
middle,  and  one  corner-post  bulged  out  noticeably ;  as  if 
these  portions  of  its  framework  had  grown  a  little  weary 
of  their  age-long  task,  and  did  not  set  themselves  thereto 
with  all  the  vigor  of  youth.  A  wide-open  door,  in  the 
lean-to,  gave  the  passing  wayfarer  a  pleasant  look  right 
into  the  heart  of  its  domestic  life,  viz.,  the  low-studded, 
time-darkened  kitchen — with  its  bare  floor,  scrubbed  white ; 
its  old-fashioned  dresser,  displaying  orderly  rows  of  pol- 
ished pewter  plates,  and  dark  blue  cups  and  saucers ;  its 
grim  old  clock,  in  a  tall  case  of  carved  oak,  whose  loud, 
slow  tick  seemed  to  mark  the  tread  of  inexorable  Fate  ; 
and  its  enormous  fireplace,  in  the  corners  of  which  one 
could  sit  on  a  chilly  night,  between  a  dusky  jamb  and  a 
pile  of  blazing  logs,  and  watch  the  slow  march  of  the  stars 
across  the  mouth  of  the  huge,  irregular,  stone  chimney.  He 
could  see,  too,  the  brisk,  blithe  mistress,  passing  to  and  fro 
between  pantry  and  oven,  with  scant  skirts  and  flying  cap- 
borders  ;  or  pausing  in  the  doorway,  and  lifting  her  specta- 
cles, the  better  to  see  if  he  were  likely  to  prefer  any  claim 
upon  her  acquaintance  or  her  charity. 

The  whole  place  was  thickly  and  lovingly  shaded.  A 
grand  old  maple,  of  whose  birth  Time  had  lost  the  record, 
flung  a  broad  shadow  over  the  gate  and  the  lean-to  door ; 


SIIILOII.  13 

a  group  of  gnarled,  knotty,  vagabond  cherry-trees  made  a 
quivering  network  of  sunlight  and  shade  at  one  corner ; 
and  a  century-old  pear  tree,  whose  fruit  was  famed  in  all 
the  country  round,  darkened  the  front  roof  and  the  second 
story  windows, — up  to  whose  worm-eaten  sills  thick  clumps 
of  lilacs  lifted  their  pointed  leaves  and  odorous"  blossoms. 

Looking  at  the  old  house  thus  narrowly,  it  was  difficult 
to  regard  it  as  an  inanimate  object.  It  seemed  to  have  a 
life  and  history  of  its  own ;  more  placid,  meditative,  and 
enduring  than  any  human  existence;  but  sympathetic 
and  kindly  still;  rich  with  long  experience  of  sunshine, 
shadow,  and  storm, — bii'th,  marriage  and  death, — where- 
with it  had  rejoiced  and  sorrowed.,  and  whose  memories 
made  fragrant  its  atmosphere  and  sweet  and  mellow  its 
ripe  old  heart.  The  combined  physiognomies  of  a  whole 
acre  of  city  houses  could  not  give  one  so  much  of  a  home 
feeling  ;  nor  so  subtly  infect  one  with  a  sense  of  some 
mysterious,  sympathetic  friendliness  and  companionship  in 
mere  stone  and  timber. 

My  description  would  be  incomplete  without  due  notice 
of  a  sunny  square  of  garden,  upon  which  the  house  front- 
ed,— a  sort  of  cultivated  wilderness,  inhabited  by  scattered 
tufts  of  marigolds,  peonies,  sweet-williams,  and  other  old- 
fashioned  favorites, — a  small  clique  of  sage,  thyme,  and 
summer-savory, — a  riotous  rabble  of  raspberry  and  goose- 
berry bushes, — a  few  scared  strawberry  plants,  hiding  in 
the  grass, — a  knot  of  quince  trees,  drawn  apart  in  a  cor- 
ner,— some  sturdy  ranks  of  homely  vegetables^ — and  guarded 
all  round  by  a  row  of  currant  bushes,  that  had  miraculous- 
ly preserved  some  notion  of  order  and  discipline.  And  it 
would  be  an  unpardonable  omission,  on  the  side  of  the  pic- 
turesque, were  I  to  forget  two  wells, — one,  at  the  front, 
and  another,  at  the  rear,  of  the  house, — each  with  its 
weather-beaten  curb,  its  lichened  crotch,  its  long,  stone- 
weighted  sweep,  and  its  pole,  from  which  depended  one  of 
that  family  of  oaken,  iron-bound,  moss-grown  buckets,  im- 
mortalized in  song. 


14:  SHILOH. 

My  further  inspection  was  cut  short  by  one  of  those 
curious  intuitions  of  the  presence  of  another  human  soul, 
which  prove  that  we  are  not  wholly  dependent  upon  our 
senses  for  knowledge.  Facing  about,  I  saw  a 'black-eyed, 
bold-faced  urchin,  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate,  with  his 
hands  thrust  deep  into  his  pockets,  regarding  me  attentive- 
ly from  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  torn  straw  hat.  As  he 
evinced  no  intention  of  opening  the  conversation,  I  ac- 
costed him  with, — 

"  Well,  my  boy,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"I  ain't  your  boy,"  was  the  matter-of-fact  rejoinder. 
"  And  I  want  Aunt  Hannah." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  lives  here,"  I  replied,  after  men- 
tally running  over  the  inmates  of  the  house,  to  see  whom 
this  appellation  might  fit,  and  deciding  that  it  belonged  to 
none  of  them. 

"  Don't  live  here !  "  exclaimed  the  small  imp,  with  his 
nose  in  the  air,  and  a  rising  inflection  of  unutterable  con- 
tempt; "why  there  she  is  now!"  pointing  straight  over 
my  shoulder. 

Looking  around,  I  saw  my  hostess  in  the  doorway, 
peering  out  at  us  from  under  her  raised  spectacles. 

"  Mrs.  Divine,  here  is  a  boy  who  says  he  wants  'Aunt 
Hannah' ;  and  he  avers,  furthermore,  that  you  are  the  per- 
son meant,"  I  said,  opening  the  gate  for  the  urchin  to 
enter. 

"  Oh !  you  are  not  used  to  that  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Divine, 
good-humoredly.  "  Everybody  about  here  calls  me  Aunt 
Hannah, — all  the  big  boys,  all  the  little  girls,  all  the  mar- 
ried women,  old  maids,  idiots,  and  farm-hands ;  and,  likely 
enough,  the  cows  and  hens,  too,  if  I  understood  their  sort 
o'  language.  It's  a  way  we  have,  and  means  nothing  but 
friendliness;  at  least,  we  find  it  out  quick  enough,  if  any 
disrespect  is  meant.  I  remember  a  young  city  chap,  brim- 
ful of  airs  and  conceit  (no  offence,  I  hope),  once  came  up 
to  my  father,  and  said,  in  a  pompous  kind  of  a  wqy,  <  I 


SIIILOH.  15 

don't  see  how  you  manage  to  exist  in  such  an  out-of-the- 
way  hole  as  this,  Uncle  Ben.'  And  my  father — who  was  a 
fine,  tall,  portly  man — drew  himself  up  proudly,  and  an- 
swered, '  I  didn't  know  before  that  I  was  uncle  to  every 
fool  in  the  country ! '  "Well,  Jack,  what  do  you  want  ?  " 
turning  to  the  boy. 

"  Ma  wants  to  know  if  you'll  come  and  sit  up  with  Mag- 
gie to-night?  she's  awful  poorly." 

Mrs.  Divine  took  off  her  spectacles  and  wiped  them 
thoughtfully.  "  Well,  no,  Jack,  I'm  afraid  I  can't.  I  have 
been  baking  and  cleaning  up  to-day,  and  there  are  twenty- 
four  separate  aches  in  my  old  back,  one  for  every  j'int. 
Can't  you  get  Mis'  Carter?" 

"  No,  marm,  she's  been  a-washing." 

"  Well,  then,  there's  Mis'  Brown." 

"  Her  baby's  sick,  and  old  maid  Mercy's  got  the  mumps, 
and  Mis'  Peck's  got  company,  and  Aunt  Sally  Ann's  gone 
to  Roxbury,"  returned  Jack,  rattling  off  his  catalogue  of 
excuses  with  infinite  relish,  and  refreshing  himself  there- 
after with  a  prolonged  stare  at  me. 

"  Oh !  then,  I  suppose  I  must  go,"  said  Mrs.  Divine. 
"  Tell  your  mother  I'll  come,  if  she  don't  hear  of  anybody 
else." 

BON  A  (in  my  ear).  You  might  go  as  well  as  not.  You 
have  done  nothing  to-day  but  ride  up  from  the  city.  And 
it  is  a  shame  to  let  that  old  lady  watch  all  night  after  her 
hard  day's  work. 

MALA  (in  the  other  ear).  Don't  be  such  a  goose  as  to 
take  that  trouble  for  people  you  never  saw,  and  catch  a 
fever  for  your  pains.  Let  the  old  lady  do  it,  they  are  her 
neighbors,  not  yours. 

BONA.  "  Which  now  of  these  three,  thinkest  thou,  was 
neighbor  to  him  that  fell  among  thieves  ?  And  he  said,  He 
that  showed  mercy  on  him.  Then  said  Jesus  unto  him,  go 
thou  and  do  likewise." 

MALA  (jiersisting) .  More  likely  than  not,  you  will  get 
no  thanks,  except  to  be  called  "  stuck*-up  city  folks." 


16  SHILOII. 


"  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me." 

I  laid  my  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  as  he  was  turning 
away.  "  No,  Jack,  tell  your  mother  that  I,  Winnie  Frost, 
Mrs.  Divine's  summer-boarder,  will  come  and  watch  with 
Maggie  to-night,  if  she  will  let  me.  Will  she  ask  for  refer- 
ences ?  "  I  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Divine,  with  a  sudden 
perception  of  a  latent  ludicrousness  in  the  scene. 

"  Of  course  not  ;  we  country  folks  don't  look  at  the  hand 
that  is  held  out  kindly  to  us,  to  see  whether  it's  red  or  blue 
blood  that  runs  in  its  veins.  But,  Miss  Frost,  aren't  you 
too  tired  to  go  ?  " 

"  Tired  !  the  air  of  these  hills  has  made  me  forget  the 
meaning  of  the  word  !  But  I  have  a  distinct  notion  of 
what  intoxication  implies.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  drinking 
wine." 

The  kind  old  woman  looked  pleased  with  my  enthu- 
siasm. The  place  where  she  was  born  and  reared,  where 
she  had  loved  and  wedded,  and  given  birth  to  children  and 
buried  them,  was  dear  to  her.  "  Ah,  yes,"  she  answered, 
"  the  air  here  is  as  pure  as  air  can  be,  there's  neither  city  to 
foul  it,  nor  ocean  to  salt  it,  within  many  miles.  And  you 
see,  my  dear,  we  are  situated  on  the  southern  slope  of  the 
hill,  —  Chestnut  Hill,  we  call  it,  —  midway  between  tho 
winds  that  whistle  over  its  top,  and  the  fogs  that  rise  from 
the  valley.  All  our  neighbors  are  not  so  well  off.  There's 
the  Warrens  —  where  you're  agoing  to  watch  to-night,  — 
they  live  right  on  the  edge  of  a  swamp,  and  there's  where 
the  fever  comes  from,  I  guess.  Sam  —  the  eldest  —  was  taken 
last  week,  and  now,  Maggie's  got  it.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
it  run  through  the  family.  But  tea  is  ready,  Miss  Frost  ; 
come  in." 


II. 

A    NEW    E^GLA^fD    TEA-TABLE. 

TRAVELED  friend  once  said  to  me,  "  To 
enjoy  the  day's  meals  in  perfection,  one 
should  breakfast  in  England,  dine  in  Paris, 
and  sup  in  New  England."  Mrs.  Divine's 
tea-table — where  my  last  letter  left  me — abun- 
dantly verified  a  part  of  the  assertion.  It 
stood  in  one  end  of  the  long,  shadowy  kitchen, 
in  front  of  the  lean-to  door,  commanding  a 
visw  of  orchard  and  hillside ;  and  was,  in  itself,  as  pretty 
a  bit  of  color  as  tin  artist,  curious  of  such  matters,  might 
hope  to  find  in  a  long  day's  journey.  There  were  biscuits 
of  the  whiteness  and  lightness  of  new  fallen  snow,  and  but- 
ter glowing  with  the  bright  yellow  of  early  cowslips — 
transparent  jellies  and  preserves,  of  rich,  deep  tints  of 
scarlet  and  purple — clear,  -amber-hued  honey,  still  undis- 
turbed in  its  close  waxen  cells — pink  slices  of  tongue- — 
crimson  shavings  of  dried  beef — creamy,  crumbly  cheese — 
emerald  pickles — golden  custards — a  pair  of  pies — a  bewil- 
dering variety  of  cakes — and  a  glass  of  roses  in  the  midst — 
the  last  being  a  contribution  from  Mrs.  Divine's  pretty 
granddaughter  Alice.  Over  this  bright  picture,  Bona  and 
Mala  had  a  ^characteristic  "  brush." 

"How  wonderfully  has  God  contrived  even  the  common- 
est details  of  life  for  enjoyment,  if  one  stops  to  think  of  it," 
said  the  former.     "  For  example,  in  this  matter  of  eating." 
MALA  (indifferently).  I  don't  see  it.    Of  course,  He  must 
provide  some  method  of  sustaining  the  life  He  has  created. 


18  SIIILOH. 

BONA.  But  He  might  have  done  it  so  differently  !  For 
instance,  we  might  have  had  a  hole  in  the  top  of  our 
heads,  or  between  our  shoulders,  with  a  lid  to  it,  wherein  a 
servant,  hurrying  by,  should  drop  a  piece  of  raw  meat,  and 
a  few  earth-incrusted  potatoes,  just  as  he  would  fling  coals 
on  a  fire.  Whereas,  in  a  family  meal,  the  eye  is  fed  with 
beauty,  the  body  with  strength,  the  affections  with  loved 
companionship,  the  mind  with  cheerful  interchange  of 
thought,  and  the  soul  with  content  and  thankfulness  to 
God! 

MALA.  Umph !  I  think  your  supposed  arrangement 
would  have  suited  me  as  well !  It  would  have  saved  a  vast 
deal  of  time  and  work. 

BONA.  And  of  refinement  and  sympathy,  and  labors  of 
love,  and  social  culture,  and  delightful  memories.  No 
prodigal  son,  feeding  on  husks  in  a  far  country,  would  have 
thought  longingly  of  the  abundance  and  delights  of  his 
father's  table ;  and  there  would  have  been  one  tender, 
touching  parable  the  less,  to  lead  men's  wandering,  hungry 
souls  back  to  the  Universal  Father  ! 

As  I  seated  myself  at  the  table,  I  bent  my  head  for  a 
moment,  according  to  my  wont,  which  the  keen  eye  of  Mrs. 
Divine  did  not  fail  to  observe.  "  If  you'll  say  that  aloud, 
Miss  Frost,  I'll  be  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  As  there's  only  women  folks  here,  perhaps  you  won't 
mind  doing  it." 

The  grace  being  said,  I  inquired,  "  But  why  should  I 
mind  if  there  were  men  here,  Mrs.  Divine  ?  That  is,  of 
course,  if  none  of  them  would  assume  the  duty." 

The  good  old  lady  looked  at  me  sharply  over  her  specta- 
cles. "  I  have  lived  sixty  years  in  this  changing  world," 
said  she,  "  and  seen  the  coming-up  of  a  good  many  neAv- 
fangled  things,  but  I  never  heard  a  lady  say  grace  aloud 
before.  Not  but  that  it  seems  right  and  proper  enough 
among  women — but  I  cannot  conceive  what  would  make 
her  do  it  before  a  tableful  of  men." 


SHILOH.  19 

"  The  grace  of  God,  I  hope,"  said  I,  meditatively.  "  Or 
it  might  be  that  mushroom,  courage  which  springs  up  to 
the  help  of  most  people  in  an  emergency ;  yet  is  neither 
Divine  inspiration  nor  strength  of  will.  At  least,  I  am  by 
no  means  certain  that  it  was  not  that,  in  mv  case." 

Mrs.  Divine  looked  a  mute  inquiry. 

"  It  never  happened  to  me  to  officiate  as  chaplain  for  a 
'  tableful  of  men '  more  than  once,"  I  answered,  "  though  I 
have  done  it,  several  times,  in  the  presence  of  a  masculine, 
or  two  ;  who,  by  reason  of  his  youth  or  irreligion,  could  not 
be  expected  to  say  grace  himself.  That  once  was  in  Mich- 
igan. Travelling  in  a  sparsely  settled  portion  of  the  State, 
it  befell  me  to  stop  for  a  night  at  the  house  of  a  devout 
Methodist  sister ;  who,  having  satisfied  herself  that  I  was 
not  altogether  a  '  dweller  in  the  tents  of  Kedar,' — to  use 
her  own  expi-ession, — entertained  me  with  a  lengthy  account 
of  her  religious  experience,  and  beset  me  with  questions 
of  doctrine  and  duty.  Among  other  things  she  bewailed 
herself  that  the  family  meals  were  eaten  unblessed,  as  she 
was  a  widow,  and  none  of  her  sons  '  converted.'  '  For,  of 
course,  I  could  not  ask  a  blessing  myself,'  she  concluded. 
'  Why  not  ? '  said  I,  '  I  do  not  see  the  impropriety.'  '  But 
I  have  five  grown  up  sons  and  two  farm  hands ;  they 
would  laugh  at  me  ! '  'I  think  not,'  said  I ;  '  certainly  not, 
when  they  were  once  accustomed  to  it.'  '  Would  you  do  it, 
in  my  place  ? '  '  Without  a  doubt.'  And  I  thought  no 
more  of  the  matter  until,  at  the  table,  with  the  five  stal- 
wart sons  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  farm  hands  and  female 
'  help '  on  the  other,  I  was  called  upon  by  my  hostess  to 
'  ask  a  blessing.'  I  confess  I  was  slightly  disconcerted,  for 
an  instant ;  but  I  said  the  grace  composedly  enough,  nev- 
ertheless,— and  the  five  unconverted  sons  did  not  laugh." 

"  And  that  reminds  me,"  said  Mrs.  Divine,  "  of  an  inci- 
dent— a  pretty  little  incident — in  one  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
•novels, — I  think  it's  in  '  Redgauntlet.'  It's  your  turn  to 
look  surprised  now ;  but,  really,  it's  the  only  book  where  I 


20  SIIILOII. 

ever  read  of  a  lady's  saying  grace  before  men, — and  I've 
read  a  good  many  books  in  my  day." 

There  was  no  doubt  she  had.  Her  talk  was  full  of 
chance  allusions,  and  odd  scraps  of  information,  that  showed 
a  confirmed,  though  desultory,  habit  of  reading.  Yet  the 
desultoriness  was  probably  less  a  matter  of  choice  than  a 
necessity  of  the  case,  for  the  family  library  contains  little 
beside  a  heap  of  old  almanacs  and  newspapers,  yellow  as 
ancient  parchment, — a  set  of  Hannah  More's  works,  that 
mio-ht  have  crossed  the  Atlantic  with  the  first  Divine 

o 

that  settled  in  America, — a  "  Scott's  Commentary,"  well 
thumbed, — a  "  Josephus," — :a  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  minus 
one  cover  and  some  leaves, — a  "  History  of  the  United 
States," — and  the  "Statutes  of  Connecticut."  So  that 
Mrs.  Divine  must  have  satisfied,  or  appeased,  her  intel- 
lectual hunger  with  such  miscellaneous  books  as  chance 
has  flung  within  her  reach. 

She  presided  at  her  tea-tabie  in  the  most  cheery,  hearty, 
and  informal  way ;  often  beginning  a  sentence  in  her  chair, 
and  finishing  it,  in  a  raised  voice,  from  the  pantry,  whither 
she  had  strayed  in  search  of  a  knife  or  spoon,  or  an  addi- 
tional viand  wherewith  to  allure  my  slow  appetite.  Oppo- 
site to  her  sat  an  upright,  angular,  severe  figure,  which  I 
took  to  belong  to  the  respectable  sisterhood  of  old  maids, 
until  it  was  introduced  to  me  as  Mrs.  Prescott,  a  widowed 
daughter  of  the  house ;  my  own  vis-a-vis  being  the  only 
child  of  the  same,  Alice  Prescott, — a  shy,  blue-eyed  maiden, 
who  never  once  ventured  to  look  me  in  the  face,  and  only 
answered  me,  when  I  spoke  to  her,  in  nervous  monosylla- 
bles. The  "  men  folks,"  I  was  informed,  would  sup  later ; 
and  would  have  laughed  to  scorn  an  invitation  to  satisfy 
their  labor-whetted  appetites  with  the  cates  and  dainties 
whereon  we  had  feasted.  "  No,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Divine. 
"  The  cold  boiled  pork  and  beef  and  potatoes,  left  from  din- 
ner, with  plenty  of  bread  and  butter  and  apple  pie,  is  what 
they  want." 


SHILOH.  21 

Tea  over,  I  was  kindly  advised  to  prepare  for  the  night's 
vigil,  by  getting  an  hour's  rest.  So  I  underwent  a  kind  of 
figurative  burial  in  a  huge  heap  of  downy  feathers,  let  my 
head  sink  into  a  soft  unsubstantiality  of  pillow ;  and,  while 
listening  to  a  rambling  talk  between  Bona  and  Mala,  slid 
into  a  confused  and  stifled  sleep,  perturbed  with  dreams 
of  a  time  and  a  person  that  it  is  the  business  of  my  waking 
hours  to  forget. 

A  little  before  nine,  I  rose,  donned  a  loose,  thick  wrap- 
per, best  adapted  of  anything  in  my  wardrobe  to  the  chill 
watches  of  a  night  near  the  end  of  May,  up  here  among  the 
hilltops  (yet  not  without  misgivings  lest  its  bright  hue 
and  flowered  border  should  seem  incongruous  with  the 
place  where  my  watch  was  to  be  kept),  and  went  down  to 
the  kitchen.  It  was  a  cheery  picture  upon  which  I  entered. 
The  weather  was  still  cool  enough  for  an  evening  fire  on 
the  hearth,  arid  its  dancing  blaze  reddened  the  dingy  walls 
and.  the  dark  oaken  ceiling,  played  at  hide-and-seek  with 
the  shadows  in  the  corners,  laughed  at  its  own  reflection 
in  the  pewter  plates  of  the  dresser,  and  lit  up  with  a 
ruddy  glow  the  sun-browned,  strong-featured  faces  around 
it.  Mrs.  Divine  sat  at  one  corner  of  the  hearthstone,  mend- 
ing certain  coarse  garments  by  the  light  of  a  tallow  candle ; 
— the  candlestick  being  upheld  by  a  quaint,  primitive  piece 
of  furniture  which  she  called  a  "  candle-stand  ;  "  consisting 
of  an  upright  post,  on  three  legs,  with  a  cross-bar  at  top, 
capable  of  being  raised  or  lowered  at  pleasure ;  to  one  end 
of  which  cross-bar  the  candlestick  was  hung,  and  to  the 
other  the  snuffers.  Opposite  to  her  sat  a  white  haired, 
dreaniy-visaged  personage,  known  universal] v  as  "Uncle 
True," — who  merits  a  more  extended  description,  and  shall 
get  it  in  some  future  epistle.  In  a  shadowed  corner,  Mrs. 
Prescott  sat  and  knitted  with  the  grim  energy  that  charac- 
terizes all  her  movements ;  and  by  the  table,  two  young 
men  were  amusing  themselves  with  a  game  of  checkers. 
But  all  these  were  subordinate  to  the  centra.!  figure  of  the 


22  SHILOH. 

picture, — Farmer  Divine  himself;  in  a  wide  arm-chair; 
shirt-sleeved  and  loose-vested ;  with  the  full  light  of  the 
fire  shed  upon  his  large,  portly  frame,  and  good-humored, 
intelligent  face;  and  talking  cheerily  in  a  loud,  hearty 
voice,  that  had  not  a  trace  of  insincerity  nor  of  reticence 
in  it.  Obviously,  the  farmer  kept  open  house,  open  heart, 
open  mind;  whoever  would,  might  enter  and  partake 
freely  of  such  entertainment  as  was  to  be  found.  Nothing 
would  be  concealed,  nothing  made  to  show  falsely,  nothing 
tricked  out  in  unaccustomed  finery.  Sundays  and  week- 
days the  fare  would  be  the  same, — never,  delicate,  nor 
luscious,  nor  high-seasoned;  but  always  substantial  and 
wholesome;  and  offered  with  a  simple  heartiness  that 
would  be  better  than  any  studied  refinements  of  courtesy. 

He  rose,  and  greeted  me  cordially,  taking  my  hand  in 
his  broad,  brown  palm — where  it  looked  as  pale  and  unsub- 
stantial as  if  it  had  been  cut  out  of  French  paper — and 
smiling  down  upon  it  from  his  noble  altitude  of  six  feet, 
with  a  half  amused,  half  pitying  expression. 

"  It's  high  time  you  came  to  Shiloh,  Miss  Frost,"  said  he. 
"  A  little  longer  stay  in  that  smoky  Sodom,  where  you 
come  from  "  (pointing  over  his  shoulder  with  his  thumb), 
"  would  have  made  you  something  like  the  old  woman  that 
dried  up  and  blew  away.  But  do  you  s'pose  you  can  put 
up  with  our  plain  country  ways  ?  " 

"  Better  than  you  can  put  up  with  my  lazy  city  habits,  I 
suspect.  For  example,  I  never  rose  at  five  o'clock  in  my 
life.  I  hope  Mrs.  Divine  will  not  think  it  too  much  trouble 
to  give  me  my  bread  and  milk  a  little  later,  for  the 
present." 

"  Bread  and  milk ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Divine,  "  you  can 
have  that  at  any  hour  in  the  day  you  like,  by  just'  stepping 
into  the  pantry  and  helping  yourself.  But  your  breakfast 
will  be  ready  when  you're  ready  for  it,  and  not  a  minute 
before.  I  can  clap  down  a  bit  of  chicken  to  the  fire  when- 
ever it's  wanted." 


8HILOH.  23 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  will  try  not  to  tax  your  indulgence  long. 
Mr.  Divine,  is  it  far  to  the  Warrens  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  only  a  step — the  first  house  beyond  the  church 
— you  can't  miss  it.  But  as.  you' re  a  stranger  in  these 
parts,  mayhap  you  wouldn't  like  to  go  alone ;  Alice  shall 
go  with  you." 

"  But  Alice  will  haVe  to  return  alone." 

"  Well,  where's  the  harm  ?  " 

"  Why,  is  it  the  custom  here  for  ladies  to  go  about  by 
themselves,  in  the  evening  ?  Are  there  no  thieves  or  des- 
peradoes about  ?  " 

"  None  that  trouble  anything  but  the  henhouse.  Why, 
you  might  walk  off  for  two  mile,  or  more,  without  meeting 
anything  worse  than  Bill  Somers's  old  white  horse,  that 
Mis'  Burns  took  for  a  ghost  the  other  night,  and  was  fright- 
ened clear  out  of  her  wits."  And  the  farmer  chuckled  in- 
wardly. 

•  "  Then  I  will  not  trouble  Miss  Alice,  thank  you.  I  shall 
really  enjoy  finding  my  way  by  myseli;  There  will  be  a 
pleasant  spice  of  adventure  about  it.  But,  Mrs.  Divine,  I 
should  like  more  minute  travelling  directions,  in  a  way. 
What  sort  of  people  are  the  Warrens  ?  " 

"  Poor  folks  enough,  I  guess.  But  people  think  they've 
seen  better  days.  They're  new  comers  here — that  is, 
they've  only  lived  here  going  on  three  year." 

"  I  do  not  mean  that.  I  merely  want  to  know  if  there 
are  any  domestic  or  individual  pitfalls  to  be  avoided." 

"  Oh  !  Well,  Mrs.  Warren's  one  of  the  prettiest "  (pretty 
beingjiere  used  in  its  Xew  England  signification  of  pleas- 
ant, agreeable)  "  little  women  in  the  world — you  can't  miss 
your  way  with  hei'.  But  her  husband's  a  pitfall,  sure 
enough  :  only  I  don't  see  how  you're  to  keep  clear  of  him. 
He  likes  to  talk,  when  the  fit's  on ;  and  he's  got  a  special 
gift  of  talking  to  little  purpose,  or  to  evil  purpose.  HC'B 
an  infidel,  Miss  /Frost — and  that's  saying  enough  that's 
bad  about  a  neighbor,  for  once." 

The  farmer  followed  me  to  the  door,  with  the  instinct  -it 


24  siiiLoii. 

politeness.  On  the  threshold,  he  turned  as  if  struck  with  a 
sudden  thought. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  Miss  Frost.  I  guess,  after  all,  I  can 
furnish  you  an  escort  jest  to  your  mind — one  that  won't  be 
in  your  way,  nor  bother  you  with  talk."  And  he  gave  a 
low  whistle. 

An  enormous  dog,  hitherto  coiled  up  in  some  dark  cor- 
ner, rose  and  came  majestically  forth.  A  noble  animal,  of 
pure  Newfoundland  breed,  coal  black,  and  with  a  face  of 
rare  intelligence. 

"  There ! "  said  Mr.  Divine,  with  pardonable  pride,  "  that's 
the  finest  dog  you  ever  saw,  ma'am,  if  I  do  say  it.  I  don't 
believe  there's  his  match,  for  sense  and  faithfulness,  in  the 
whole  world.  He  understands  what  you  say  to  him  jest  as 
well  as  you  do  yourself.  See  if  he  don't.  Leo,  sir !  this 
lady  is  Miss  Frost."  The  farmer  laid  his  finger  on  my 
shoulder  and  repeated  the  name  twice,  slowly  and  distinct- 
ly. The  dog  looked  at  me  attentively. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mr.  Divine,  "  he  knows  who  you  are. 
He's  hung  up  your  name  in  his  memory.  If  I  pick  up 
your  handkerchief,  or  your  glove,  or  anything  that  belongs 
to  you,  I've  only  to  say,  '  Leo,  carry  this  to  Miss  Frost,'  and 
he'll  bring  it  to  you,  anywhere  within  three  mile.  Shake 
hands  with  Miss  Frost,  sir  !  " 

The  dog  came  to  me,  and,  with  ineffable  dignity,  uplifted 
a  great,  black  paw. 

"And  now  he  knows  you're  to  be  put  on  his  list  of 
friends,"  pursued  Mr.  Divine.  "  We  never  tell  him  to 
ehake  hands  with  any  one  we  don't  want  him  to  trea>  like 
one  of  the  family.  But  you're  in  a  hurry  to  be  off.  Leo, 
show  Miss  Frost  the  way  to  the  Warrens — do  you  hear, 
sir? — to  the  Warrens  !  " — with  an  appropriate  gesture. 

The  dog  looked  from  his  master  to  me,  and  went  forward 
to  the  gate,  in  token  that  he  heard  and  obeyed. 

"  When  you  get  there,"  said  Mr.  Divine,  "just  tell  him 
to  come  home,  or  he'll  wait  outside  for  you  till  morning. 
Good  night." 


III. 

THE   WABRENS. 

[Y  spirits  rose  as  I  closed  the  gate  behind 
me,  and  looked  down  the  lonely,  moonlit 
road.  The  prospect  of  a  silent  evening 
walk,  by  an  unknown  path  to  an  unknown 
goal, — in  such  strange  companionship,  too  ! — 
was  not  without  its  exciting  charm.  The  dog 
kept  a  few  paces  in  advance ;  grave,  dignified, 
and  sombre,  as  an  usher  at  a  funeral.  Once, 
I  spoke  to  him.  He  stopped  a  moment,  put  his  nose  into 
my  hand,  and  then  went  on  again. 

At  first,  the  road  was  flooded  with  moonlight,  and  my 
shadow  glided  silently  beside  me,  sharply  defined,  but  never 
at  rest,  and  leaving  no  trace  of  its  passage  behind.  It  oc- 
curred to  me  that  the  time  might  come  when  most  earthly 
shadows  should  be  seen  to  have  been  as  much  a  necessity 
of  life's  conditions,  and  as  transitory.  Beyond  the  church, 
the  road  slunk  under  the  gloom  of  a  dense  piece  of  woods ; 
and  when  I  emerged  from  that,  the  house  which  I  sought 
was  close  at  hand.  It  was  a  small,  low,  unpainted  struc- 
ture, with  only  the  merest  shred  of  a  yard  between  it  and 
the  road ;  and  the  door  was  wide  open,  giving  a  full  view 
of  the  kitchen,  or  living  room ; — for  one  glance  sufficed  to 
show  that  it  must  serve  every  domestic  purpose,  save  that 
of  a  bedroom. 

Leo  paused  at  the  gate,  waited  for  me  to  enter,  and 
then,  obedient  to  a  word  and  a  gesture,  turned  homeward. 
Jack  was  seated  in  the  doorway,  busy  with  some  mys- 
2 


26  SIIILOH. 

terious  complication  of  sticks  and  strings,  which  might,  and 
might  not,  have  been  a  kite.  He  announced  my  coming, 
in  his  own  laconic  fashion. 

"  Ma,  here's  your  watcher." 

A  meek-faced  woman  immediately  came  forward,  and 
received  me  with  a  gentle  ease  of  manner  that  would  not 
have  been  out  of  keeping  with  far  more  sumptuous  sur- 
roundings. Plainly,  her  soul's  education  had  begun  in 
some  place  nearer  to  the  world's  great  centres  than  Shiloh ; 
and  God  was  only  finishing  it  here,  amid  such  tribulations 
as  would  help  her  to  the  most  abundant  entrance  into  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven. 

"  Thank  you  very  much  for  coming,  Miss  Frost,"  said 
she,  hi  that  low  monotone  of  voice  which  speaks  so  un- 
mistakably of  pain  outworn,  and  hope  and  disappointment 
both  left  behind, — "  and  yet  I  am  afraid  that  I  ought  not 
to  have  let  you  come,  either ;  it  is  too  much  to  ask  of  a 
stranger." 

"  If  I  am  a  stranger  now,"  I  replied,  "  I  hope  I  shall 
not  seem  one  long.  I  know  it  was  taking  a  liberty  to 
proffer  my  services  in  such  an  off-hand  way,  but  I  could 
come  much  better  than  Mrs.  Divine.  And  I  am  tolerably 
well-skilled  in  nursing ;  my  father  was  an  invalid  for  many 
months." 

"  Miss  Frost  is  a  student  of  human  nature,"  interposed 
a  deep,  gruff  voice,  behind  me,  "  and  she  would  not  miss  the 
chance  of  finding  a  new  variety  in  this  poor,  miserable, 
fever-stricken  hut." 

The  tone  of  his  voice  gave  me  a  creeping  of  the  flesh ; 
such  as  one  might  experience,  who,  in  feeling  round  a  dark 
vault,  should  suddenly  put  his  hand  upon  a  chill,  slippery, 
sliding  reptile.  Turning  quickly,  I  met  the  derisive,,  cyni- 
cal smile  of  the  "  infidel,"  of  whom  Mrs.  Divine  had  spoken 
with  such  noticeable  abhorrence.  His  body  was  massive, 
his  shoulders  broad  and  powerful,  his  head  large  and 
covered  with  shaggy,  iron-gray  hair,  his  eyes  deep-set  and 


SIIILOH.  27 

piercing.  But  this  Titanic  trunk  was  planted  on  a  pair  of 
legs  that  would  better  have  suited  the  boyish  stature  of  his 
son  Jack,  so  that  he  was  not  so  tall  as  myself.  It  is  impos- 
sible, dear  Francesca,  to  give  you  any  adequate  idea  of  the 
harsh  repulsiveness  of  this  strange  man, — not  because  of 
his  deformity,  but  on  account  of  the  sneering  rudeness  of 
his  gaze,  and  the  lawless,  almost  impertinent,  freedom 
of  his  expression  ;  as  if  he  cared  not  who  saw  the  evil 
in  his  soul,  nor  what  sentiment  of  disgust  it  inspired.  Not 
that  his  face  seemed  vulgar.  There  was  even  a  look  of 
quickness  and  acuteness  of  intellect  about  it ;  but  there 
was  no  corresponding  fineness  of  nature.  There  was  also 
a  latent  morbidness  in  his  expression ;  as  if  his  deformity, 
or  something  else,, had  put  him  at  cross-purposes  with  life. 

His  rude  accost  made  me  color,  in  spite  of  myself; — 
there  was  just  truth  enough  in  it  to  give  it  a  sting.  Cer- 
tainly this  man  had  a  wonderful  power  of  discerning  what- 
ever grain  of  selfishness  might  be  hidden  at  the  bottom  of 
a  good  deed,  and  of  putting  his  cynical  finger  on  it. 

"A  good  student  loves  the  subjects  of  his  study,"  I  an- 
swered, after  a  moment's  pause  of  embarrassment.  "  And 
if  I  had  not  a  real  love  of  humanity — and  of  Christ — in  my 
heart,  I  should  not  be  here  to-night." 

MR.  WARREN.  Oh  !  you're  one  of  that  sort,  are  you  ? 
You  don't  look:  like  it ; — I  should  say  there  was  more  fire 
than  frost  about  you  (with  just  enough  emphasis  on  the 
words  to  make  me  aware  of  the  pun).  Well,  madam,  I  will 
undertake  to  convince  you, — if  you  will  listen, — that 
Christ  was  only  a  man  like  myself,  or — if  you  don't  like 
the  pattern — (looking  down  at  his  shrunken  legs  with  a 
terrible  irony)  then,  like  William  Herman  in  there,  watch- 
ing with  my  so*n  Sam. 

I.  And  if  you  could,  sir,  what  help  in  life,  or  comfort  in 
death,  should  I  derive  from  that  conviction  ? 

He  stared  at  me,  for  a  moment,  with  an  utterly  blank 
look.  He  had  expected  denial,  or  argument,  not  a  prac- 


28  SIIILOH. 

tical  question  of  valuation.  Then,  suddenly  quitting  the 
subject,  and  changing  his  tone  to  one  of  more  courtesy, 
he  said, — 

"  Well,  Miss  Frost,  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  coming  here 
to-night,  whatever  was  your  object,  or  your  motive.  It  is 
more  than  we  expected  from  a  city-bred  lady — -or  deserved," 
he  added,  with  an  affectation  of  humility  that  was  haugh- 
tier than  any  outspoken  pride.  "  But  please  to  step  this 
way  a  moment." 

He  opened  a  door  into  a  pantry  near  by,  and  motioned 
me  to  enter.  Then,  holding  the  door  in  his  hand,  and  half 
closing  it  behind  him,  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  bring  you 
here,  that  Maggie  may  not  hear  us.  I  wish  to  ask  you  to 
refrain  from  any  preaching,  or  exhorting,  during  your  watch 
with  her.  I  don't  want  her  to  be  frightened  into  the  next 
world  by  being  told  to  'prepare  for  death'; — that's  the 
cant  phrase,  isn't  it  ?  " — with  a  sneer. 

MALA.  Tell  the  old  bear  that  you'll  do  as  you  think 
right,  and  if  he  does  not  like  it,  you  can  go  home  again. 

BONA.  No,  no, — if  you  want  Mr.  Warren  to  go  a  step 
in  your  way,  you  must  first  go  a  step  in  his.  Get  a  hold 
on  him  by  kindness,  it  is  your  only  chance  of  doing  him 
any  good. 

I  (speaking  partly  from  the  influence  of  one,  and  partly 
of  the  other).  Mr.  Warren,  you  have  a  right  to  dictate,  in 
this  house.  And  if  you  choose  to  send  your  child  into  the 
next  world,  without  the  needful  preparation,  it  is  your  re- 
sponsibility, not  mine. 

MB.  WABBEN  (with  flashing  eyes).  But  Maggie  isn't 
going  into  the  next  world !  She  won't  die,  I  tell  you, — she 
shan't  die !  But  she  is  weak  and  nervous,  and  you  would 
scare  her  to  death,  if  you  hinted  that  the're  was  even  a 
chance  of  her  dying ;  and  that  would  be  your  responsi- 
bility. You  won't  do  it,  will  you  ?  (icith  a  mixture  of  en- 
treaty and  fierceness,  impossible  to  describe.} 

I  (coldly).  Sir,  I  will  try  to  remember  your  wishes. 


SHILOH.  29 

The  old  sinister  look  settled  back  on  his  face.  "  Well, 
that's  settled,"  said  he,  throwing  wide  open  the  door,  "  and 
I  shall  be  near  enough  to  see  how  the  promise  is  kept.  Xot 
that  I  doubt  your  word,"  with  a  half  bow. 

Mrs.  Warren  had  listened  to  this  conversation  with  a 
pained  and  anxious  look ;  now  she  seized  the  opportunity 
to  say, — 

"  Will  you  come  into  Maggie's  room,  now,  Miss  Frost  ?  " 
— pointing  to  an  open  door,  where  I  had  already  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  bed,  and  a  young,  fever-flushed  face. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  And  you  had  better  give  me 
your  dii'ections  for  the  night,  and  go  to  bed  at  once, — you 
look  thoroughly  tired  out.  As  I  am  here  to  watch,  the 
sooner  I  am  made  of  use,  the  better." 

I  followed  her  into  the  little  room — so  small  that  there 
was  barely  a  passage-way  between  the  walls  and  the  bed. 
Here  lay  Maggie,  a  fine-looking  girl  of  fifteen  or  sixteen ; 
whose  hectic  cheek,  and  large,  restless  black  eyes,  lit  up 
with  the  unnatural  brightness  of  fever,  gave  her  a  strange, 
wild  beauty.  She  looked  at  me  curiously  and  intently,  let- 
ting her  eyes  rest  with  evident  pleasure  on  the  bright  tints 
of  my  wrapper ;  but  she  said  nothing,  not  even  in  answer 
to  my  greeting.  The  few  necessary  directions  were  given, 
the  whereabouts  of  pills,  drops,  and  refreshment  tray, 
pointed  out, — and  then  the  mother  bade  us  good  night, 
and  withdrew. 


THE   VIGIL. 

HAVE  received  your  letter,  Francesca  mia, 
but  do  not  ask  me  yet,  to  enter  upon  the  de- 
tails of  the  separation  of  Paul  and  myself.  Thank 
you  for  your  offer  of  friendly  service,  but  the  break 
is  past  mending;  neither  explanation  nor  me- 
diation could  avail  aught.  The  parting  is  final — 
let  that  suffice  for  the  present.  Not  until  grief 
has  become  subdued  and  softened  by  time,  can 
we  stand  by  the  grave  where  hope  and  faith  lie  buried, 
and  talk  calmly  of  our  loss.  Before  then,  sobs  or  silence 
must  speak  for  us.  I  scorn  to  give  way  to  the  sobs ;  you 
must  try  to  iinderstand  the  silence. 

"  Forgetting  the  things  which  are  behind  "  — or  doing 
my  best  to  that  end, — I  continue  the  narrative  of  my 
strange  vigil  with  Maggie  Warren.  Seated  by  her  bed- 
side, fan  in  hand,  I  heard  the  slow  footsteps  of  the  weary 
mother  ascend  the  creaking  staircase,  move  about  overhead, 
for  a  brief  space,  and  then  cease  ;  conjecturing,  meanwhile, 
what  curious  links  of  circumstance  had  bound  that  gentle, 
refined  woman  to  that  morose,  sneering,  repulsive  hulk  of 
a  man.  I  wasted  no  wonder  on  the  union  itself, — the  story 
of  Titania  and  Bottom  has  been  so  often  acted  on  the 
stage  of  life,  since  Shakespeare's  time,  as  to  have  grown 
commonplace.  But  I  began  to  wonder,  ere  long,  what  Mr. 
Warren  was  about,  in  the  kitchen,  and  when  he  would 


SIIILOII.  31 

withdraw,  and  leave  me  to  myself  and  the  sick  maid- 
en ?  - 

The  query  was  soon  answered.  I  heard  him  rise,  open 
a  door,  drag  something  forth,  with  a  soft,  rushing  sound, 
and  then  he  presented  himself  before  me. 

"  Are  you  ready,  now,  for  the  argument  about  the  di- 
vinity of  Christ,  Miss  Frost  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  am  content  to  let  it  rest  where  we  left  it 
just  now." 

"  I  see  you  have  no  taste  for  argument.  Women  sel- 
dom have,"  with  a  sneer. 

I  was  foolish  enough  to  be  stung  by  the  imputation. 
"  I  am  not  averse  to  argument,"  I  retorted,  "  when  there  is 
anything  to  be  gained  by  it.  But  I  know  you  can  do  me 
no  harm,  and  I  suspect  I  can  do  you  no  good." 

"  You  might,  at  least,  try," — arching  his  eyebrows. 

I  kept  silent.  The  man  repelled  me  so,  that  I  would 
not  enter  upon  a  discussion  with  him. 

"  Miss  Frost,"  he  persisted,  "  you  are  afraid  that  your 
faith  will  be  shaken." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir.  I  am  already  tolerably  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  infidel  writings  from  which  you  must 
needs  draw  your  arguments,  since  in  infidelity — as  in  the 
earth — there  js  nothing  new  under  the  sun." 

"Which  means,  I  suppose,"  said  he,  looking  at  me 
keenly,  "  that  you  are  a  little  better  provided  with  counter1 
arguments  than  most  young  women.  I  am  glad  of  it ;  I 
like  a  '  foeman  worthy  of  my  steel.' "  Here  Maggie  turned 
her  head  with  an  uneasy  and  peevish  movement.  The 
symptom  of  weariness  caught  the  father's  eye,  and  his 
love  for  his  child  proved  more  potent,  even,  than  his  love 
of  discussion.  "I  see  that  my  talk  worries  Maggie,"  he 
said,  hastily,  "  and  we  will  leave  the  subject  till  another 
time.  Miss  Frost,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  it,  if  I  quarter 
in  the  kitchen,  to-night.  Our  sleeping  accommodations  are 
scant  enough,  at  best ;  but  now  with  Sam  taking  the 


32  SHILOH. 

whole  of  one  bed,  and  Maggie  in  another,  there  is  nothing 
left  for  me  but  a  buffalo  skin,  and  the  kitchen  floor.  'You 
need  not  mind  me  any  more  than  an  old  log, — I'm  a  sound 
sleeper." 

And  to  my  surprise,  and  almost  horror,  he  wrapped  a 
coarse,  shaggy  buffalo  skin  around  him,  stretched  himself 
upon  the  floor,  in  a  position  to  command  the  small  interior 
of  the  sick-room,  and  was  soon,  to  all  appearance,  sound 
asleep.  This  was  what  he  meant  when  he  said  he  "  should 
be  near  enough  to  see  how  my  promise  was  kept !  "  I  re- 
called the  words  with  exceeding  indignation,  and  Mala 
made  them  the  text  upon  which  she  discoursed  furiously 
for  the  next  five  minutes. 

At  first,  his  presence  was  an  annoyance  and  a  restraint 
to  me.  I  moved  carefully,  and  almost  held  my  breath 
when  it  was  necessary  to  pass  him, — so  exceedingly  reluct- 
ant was  I  to  bring  upon  myself  the  keen,  merciless  scru- 
tiny of  his  deep-set  eyes.  Finding,  however,  that  his  sleep 
was  heavy  and  unbroken,  I  came  gradually  to  feel  more  at 
my  ease,  and  moved  about  with  greater  freedom.  In  one1 
of  my  visits  to  the  fireplace,  where  certain  broths  and  de- 
coctions were  kept  hot  for  the  sick  ones,  I  encountered  my 
fellow  watcher — the  William  Herman  before  mentioned — 
a  tall,  light-haired,  light-eyed  man,  of  a  whimsical  and  hu- 
morous cast  of  countenance ;  and  with  a  noiseless,  almost 
womanish,  way  of  handling  cups  and  saucepans,  that  testi- 
fied strongly  to  his  fitness  for  his  office.  He  nodded  to  me 
familiarly,  with  an  evident  understanding  of  the  "  situation," 
asked  after  my  patient,  told  me  that  his  own  was  "  coming 
along  bravely ; "  and  went  on  tiptoe  back  to  his  post. 

The  slow  moments  crept  on  for  an  hour.  The  sick  girl 
turned  her  head  restlessly  on  her  pillow,  the  clock  ticked 
noisily,  the  firelight  gleamed  and  flickered  on  the  walls, 
the  tallow  candle  burned  dim,  and  a  great,  black  accumu- 
lation of  cinder  hung  to  its  wick.  By  and  by,  I  found 
myself  observing  the  scene  in  the  most  abstract  manner, 


SIIILOII.  33 

with  a  keen  appreciation  of  its  artistic  effects  of  light,  and 
shade,  and  color.  I  perceived  what  an  effective  picture  it 
would  make  in  the  hands  of  a  skilful  artist, — the  dingy, 
low,  bare  rooms,  lit  up  with  the  fitful  glow  of  the  fire, — 
the  youthful,  fever-intensified  beauty  of  the  sick  maiden  on 
her  coarse  pillow, — the  prostrate  figure  of  the  father^— a 
mixture  of  the  grotesque  and  the  demoniac — in  its  uncouth 
shaggy  wrappings,  with  its  strongly  marked  features  seen 
half  in  red  glow,  half  in  deep  shadow.  I  even  regarded 
myself  in  a  purely  objective  way,  as  a  mere  accessory  of 
the  picture, — well  pleased  to  see  what  a  spot  of  warm, 
bright  color  that  deprecated  wrapper  would  make  amid  the 
prevailing  sombreHess,  and  how  effectively  the  soft  richness 
of  its  material,  and  the  general  refinement  of  my  dress 
and  figure  would  contrast  with  the  rudeness  and  squalor 
of  my  surroundings. 

But  while  I  looked  around,  Maggie  gazed  at  me  with  a 
curious  intentness  that  I  could  only  account  for  by  the  sup- 
position that  strange  faces  were  rare  to  her.  She  took  her 
medicines  from  my  hand,  at  the  stated  moments,  without 
demur,  but  replied  to  the  questions  I  addressed  to  her  only 
by  gestures.  Finally,  after  a  long,  unwinking  scrutiny  of 
my  face,  she  suddenly  flung  herself  on  one  side  and  said, 
pettishly,  "  I  want  mother." 

"  My  dear  child,"  I  answered,  gently,  "  your  mother  has 
great  need  of  rest,  let  us  not  disturb  her.  I  can  do  for  you 
all  that  she  could,  I  think,-^-at  least,  let  me  try.  What  is 
it  you  want  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  only  I'm  so  tired,"— with  a  wailing  intona- 
tion, pitiful  to  hear. 

I  had  already  exhausted  my  invention  in  ringing  the 
changes  upon  a  thin  bolster  and  two  small  pillows,  to  afford 
her  some  little  change  of  position.  There  was  nothing 
more  to  be  done  with  that  material.  So  I  lifted  her  light 
form,  pillows  and  all,  and  sitting  down  on  the  bed,  laid  her 
on  my  lap,  with  her  head  resting  on  my  bosom.  She 
2* 


34  SHILOH. 

yielded  passively  to  the  arrangement,  and  gave  a  low  sigh 
of  satisfaction  as  she  felt  the  relief  of  the  entire  change  of 
posture,  while  a  pleased  and  restful  expression  brightened 
her  face.  Then  she  raised  her  eyes,  with  a  still  curious, 
but  a  softer,  look,  to  mine. 

•"  You  ain't  afraid  of  me,"  she  said,  in  a  half  assertive, 
half  interrogative  tone. 

The  question  made  me  smile.  "  Why,  no,  my  dear,  I 
cannot  say  that  I  am,"  I  answered.  "  I  do  not  know  how 
formidable  a  personage  you  may  be,  when  you  are  well ; 
but  now,  certainly,  I  am  the  stronger  of  the  two,  and  if  we 
should  happen  to  differ,  which  is  not  likely,  I  think  I  could 
carry  my  point." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  she  returned,  after  a  little  be- 
wildered stare,  as  if  she  were  puzzled  to  understand  the 
drift  of  what  I  was  saying.  "  I  mean  that  you  ain't  afraid 
of  catching  the  fever.  All  the  folks  who  have  been  here 
before  have  been  careful  not  to  touch  me,  or  come  near  me, 
when  they  could  help  it.  I  s'pose  they  thought  I  didn't 
know  it,  but  I  did,  and  it  made  me  hate  them ! "  (with 
a  gleam  of  her  father's  fierce,  vindictive  spirit.)  "They 
wouldn't  have  held  me  like  this  for  a  million  of  money." 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  I  said,  bitterly,  answering  to  my  own 
thoughts,  rather  than  to  her,  "  but  that  to  take  the  fever, 
and  die  quickly  and  quietly,  would  be  the  best  thing  which 
could  happen  to  me." 

Maggie  opened  her  eyes  with  extreme  surprise.  "  Why, 
ain't  you  afraid  to  die  ?  "  she  asked,  simply. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  I  began,  but  Bona  sternly  inter- 
posed. 

"  If  you  are  not,  you  ought  to  be,"  said  she.  "  No  one 
has  the  right  not  to  be  afraid  of  dying  who  is  not  content 
to  do  and  suffer  all  God's  will,  in  living.  Weariness  of  life 
is  poor  ground  for  fearlessness  of  death.  '  Perfect  love,' 
only,  *  casteth  out  fear,'  and  he  who  longs  for  death,  for  any 
reason  stronger  than  his  love  of  Christ,  and  his  desire  to 


SIIILOH.  35 

be  lifted  into  '  heavenly  places  in  Him,'  has  great  reason 
for  shame  and  confusion  of  face,  if  he  is  not  afraid  of 
dying." 

I  hesitated,  abashed  and  confounded.  But  Maggie  still 
looked  and  waited  for  my  answer.  So,  in  a  far  different 
spirit,  I  finished  the  sentence — "  I  think  not ;  at  least  I 
should  ask  our  Saviour  to  give  me  the  victory  over  death." 

She  repeated  the  words  after  me,  as  if  she  were  saying 
a  lesson.  "  The — victory — over — death, — I  don't  under- 
. stand." 

"  I  mean,  Maggie,  that  inasmuch  as  the  soul  is  capable 
of  a  richer  and  more  enduring  life  than  the  body,  they  who 
have  a  good  hope,  through  Christ,  of  escaping  the  death 
of  the  soul,need  not  fear  the  death  of  the  body." 

"  But  I  am  afraid  of  death,"  she  said,  excitedly. 

You  will  not  be  surprised,  Francesca,  that  the  answer  to 
this  came  in  another  voice  than  mine,  if  you  have  formed 
any  correct  conception  of  the  impressionable  and  suspicious 
character  of  the  father,  and  of  his  tireless  watchfulness 
over  this  favorite  child,  who  seemed  to  have  concentrated 
upon  herself  all  the  tenderness  of  his  natnre.  I  had  seen 
his  eyes  open  soon  after  she  began  to  talk,  and  my  last 
sentence  had  been  uttered  in  the  full  consciousness  that 
he  was  listening.  Now  he  called  out,  in  a  voice  wherein 
the  effort  to  render  it  hearty  and  cheery  was  very  percep- 
tible,— 

"  Nonsense,  child,  you  are  not  going  to  die — there's 
plenty  of  strong  life  in  you  yet.  You'll  live  to  be  a  gray- 
haired  woman,  and  bury  your  old  father  long  before  you 
go.  Why,  I  can  see  you  are  getting  better  already.  You 
feel  better,  don't  you  ?  " — the  last  words  being  spoken  at 
the  bedside,  with  her  hand  in  his. 

"  I  guess  so,  father ;  I  feel  easier.  Miss  Frost  holds  me 
so  nicely.  She  isn't  a  bit  afraid  of  touching  me.  And  her 
dress  is  so  soft  and  pretty  ! "  said  Maggie,  nestling  her 
cheek  against  my  wrapper,  with  a  childlike  enjoyment  of 


36  SHILOH. 

its  brightness  and  softness,  and  a  look  that  was  half  affec- 
tionate in  her  dark,  inquisitive  eyes. 

Mr.  Warren  looked  at  me  with  real  gratitude.  "  Thank 
you,"  said  he,  "I  will  never  forget  your  goodness  to  my 
child." 

MALA  (instantly  alert,  and  whispering  in  my  ear).  See 
what  a  pleasant,  winning  way  you  have,  when  you  choose  ! 
Already  this  girl,  who,  an  hour  ago,  only  looked  at  you 
suspiciously  and  curiously,  as  at  some  wild  animal,  begins 
to  show  you  confidence  and  affection.  Already  that  cross- 
grained  father  speaks  to  you  gratefully.  What  tact  you 
have  !  How  good  you  are  !  It  is  something  to  be  proud  of ! 

I  (in  an  agony).  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan!  Can  I 
not  do  one  little  thing  for  Christ,  but  you  must  needs  spoil 
it  with  your  miserable  self-righteousness !  With  you  for- 
ever at  hand,  it  is  useless  for  me  to  try  to  do  right. 

MALA  (insinuatingly).  So  it  is.     Give  up  trying,  then. 

BONA.  If  St.  Paul  had  occasion  to  say,  "  To  will  is  pres- 
ent with  me,  but  how  to  perform  that  which  is  good,  I  find 
not ;"  you,  certainly,  have  no  cause  for  discouragement. 
For  "  the  Spirit  helpeth  our  infirmities."  And  God,  seeing 
your  good  will,  will  pardon  the  shortcomings  of  your  per- 
formance. 

"  Maggie  is  really  better,"  persisted  Mr.  Warren ; — 
"  don't  you  think  she  is  better,  Miss  Frost  ?  " 

I  looked  down  at  the  thin  face,  noted  that  it  was  less 
flushed  than  it  had  been,  marked  the  short,  faint  breathing, 
and  could  not  say  that  I  discerned  any  sign  of  betterment. 
Mr.  Warren  saw  my  hesitation,  and  made  an  irritated  ges- 
ture. "  You  see  she  has  less  fever,"  he  urged. 

I  did  see  it ;  but  I  also  saw  that  she  seemed  weaker.     « 

"  Will  you  hand  me  that  glass  of  brandy  and  water  ?  " 
I  asked,  by  way  of  creating  a  diversion,  and  with  a  sudden 
perception  that'  a  spoonful  of  the  stimulant  would  not  be 
amiss.  Then  the  father  went  back  to  his  buffalo-skin,  and 
soon  after,  Maggie  fell  asleep  in  my  arms. 


SHILOII.  37 

Another  hour  crawled  on,  lame  and  leaden-footed,  in- 
deed,— for  my  position  became  absolutely  painful,  after  a 
time ;  but  my  charge  slept  quietly,  and  I  would  not  disturb 
her  by  moving.  Thus  Mr.  Herman  found  me,  long  past 
midnight,  with  benumbed  muscles  and  a  contorted  face. 

"This  won't  do,"  he  said,  decidedly.  "You  can't 
stand  that  many  minutes  longer,  and  she  may  as  well  be 
waked  up  now  as  ever.  I'll  lift  her,  while  you  crawl  out." 

He  put  his  strong  arms  under  her  with  a  woman's  gen- 
tleness. Pier  dark  eyes  opened  with  a  bewildered  look, 
that  did  not  become  intelligent  until  the  change  was  ef- 
fected. Then  she  murmured,  "  Isn't  it  morning  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  I  answered.     And  she  slept  again. 

To  restore  the  circulation  to  my  torpid  limbs,  I  began 
pacing  slowly  through  the  rooms ;  sometimes  brushing  the 
sleeper  on  the  floor  with  the  skirt  of  my  dress,  as  I  passed 
him,  but  without  visible  effect.  Plainly,  his  senses  were 
fast  locked  against  everything  not  immediately  affecting 
the  state  of  his  daughter, — to  her  voice  only  was  he  ever 
awake  and  responsive.  Seeing  what  treasure  of  love  his 
uncouth  frame  held,  I  began  to  feel  a  little  more  kindly  to- 
ward him. 

Up  and  down  I  paced  slowly,  stopping  at  every  turn  to 
observe  Maggie  narrowly ;  and  noticing  with  real  sorrow — 
so  quickly  is  human  sympathy  transfigured  into  the  like- 
ness of  affection! — that  her  pulse  grew  ever  fainter,  and 
her  cheek  more  wan.  I  increased  the  prescribed  quan- 
tity of  stimulus, — by  way  of  disputing  every  inch  of 
ground  with  the  Dread  Encroacher, — answering,  mean- 
while, her  oft-repeated  question,  "  Isn't  it  most  morning ! " 
with  a  soothing, ."  Not  quite  yet,  dear ;  it  will  be  morn- 
ing soon." 

At  last,  in  the  chill  hour  preceding  the  dawn,  there 
came  upon  her  face  that  indefinable  look,  which  shows  that 
the  "  earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle  "  is  being  dissolved, 
and  the  imprisoned  spirit  is  beating  against  the  weakened 


38  SHILOH. 

* 

bars.  I  went  to  the  door  of  the  other  sick-room,  and  mo- 
tioned to  Mr.  Herman  to  join  me.  He  detected  the  change 
at  once. 

"  It's  coming,  sure,"  he  said  with  deep  gravity.  "  I'll 
call  her  mother." 

Maggie  caught  the  tone  of  his  whisper,  though  not  the 
words,  and  opened  terror-stricken  eyes  upon  \is. 

"  Am  I  going  to  die  ?  "  she  gasped. 

I  am  no  mystic  nor  spiritualist,  yet  I  do  sometimes 
question  if  the  soul  is  not  endowed  with  some  finer  sense 
than  the  body,  which  comes  to  its  aid  in  life's  critical  mo- 
ments. That  sleeping  father  was  on  his  feet  almost  as 
soon  as  the  words  were  out  of  her  mouth  ! 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  began,  "  you'll  be  all  right  in  a 
few  days,  and — "  But,  as  he  neared  the  bed,  and  saw  his 
daughter's  ashy  face  distinctly,  he  faltered,  paused,  and 
dropped  into  a  chair  as  if  he  had  received  a  sudden,  severe 
blow. 

Maggie  fixed  her  eyes  on  him,  and  repeated  her  ques- 
tion. 

"  No,  child,"  he  replied,  making  a  Herculean  effort  for 
composure.  "Don't  be  afraid;  you  know  your  father 
wouldn't  deceive  you." 

It  was  terrible  to  hear  the  misguided  man  answer  his 
dying  daughter  with  a  lie.  It  was  done  in  love,  I  knew, 
but  it  was  no  less  awful  to  hear.  Lulled  to  a  momentary 
security  by  his  encouraging  words,  Maggie  closed  her  eyes. 
But  some  inward  trouble,  or  monitor,  would  not  let  her  rest. 
Ere  long,  she  opened  them  again,  and  appealed  to  me. 

"  Am  I  going  to  die  ?  "  she  said,  earnestly. 

It  was  impossible  to  face  the  awakened  soul  in  those 
eyes,  and  answer  it  with  a  falsehood;  it  was  almost  as 
hard  to  meet  the  father's  stern,  agonized  face,  and  tell  the 
whole  truth.  Vainly,  it  seemed  to  me,  I  groped  about  for 
words  that  should  help  and  satisfy  the  one,  without  hurt- 
ing the  other.  Finally,  I  said — 


SHILOH.  39 

"  Only  God,  Maggie,  knows  whether  you  will  die  or 
live.  You  are  in  His  hands,  dear.  But  they  are  such 
wise,  and  strong,  and  loving  hands  J  You  may  trust  your- 
self to  them  without  a  fear.  If  you  do  trust  them,  you 
are  just  as  safe  in  your  deathbed,  as  ever  you  were  in  your 
cradle." 

Her  lip  quivered.  Then  she  said,  faintly,  halting  over 
the  unfamiliar  words,  "  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  ask  Him  to 
give  me  the — victory — over — death  !  " 

I  looked  at  her  father.  He  had  turned  his  face  away. 
Evidently,  he  left  the  matter  in  my  hands. 

"  Don't  you  know  how  to  pray  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  much.     Mother  taught  me,  '  Now  I  lay  me.' " 

Only  that !  A  lightning  intuition  showed  me  that  the 
sceptical  father  had  forbidden,  or  laughed  at,  all  religious 
instruction ;  and  that  the  meek,  gentle  mother  had  not 
dared  to  withstand  his  authority. 

"  That  will  do  very  well,  dear,"  I  replied.  "  To  God's 
children,  death  is  only  a  chamber  darkened  for  a  quiet  sleep. 
Ask  Him  to  keep  your  soul,  for  Christ's  sake." 

She  closed  her  eyes,  and  I  think  she  uttered  the  childish 
prayer,  but  I  do  not  know.  For  I  bowed  my  own  head  on 
her  pillow,  heart-heavy  with  poignant  pain  and  pity,  and 
prayed  silently  for  that  poor,  helpless,  untaught  soul,  drift- 
ing affrightedly  out  into  an  unknown  future,  and  groping 
about  for  some  hand  unto  which  to  cling, — prayed  with 
greater  intensity  and  fervor  than  ever  I  prayed  for  myself, 
I  think,  though  I  need  prayer  enough,  Heaven  knows ! 
And  the  prayer  was  not  lost !  If  it  availed  nothing  for 
her,  it,  at  least,  calmed  and  strengthened  me.  Without  it, 
the  long  strain  of  that  death-scene  would  have  been  more 
than  I  could  bear. 

When  I  looked  up,  Mrs.  Warren  stood  near,  perfectly 
calm,  patient,  and  resigned,  as  seemed  her  unvarying  habit. 
"  I  expected  this,"  she  said,  quietly,  taking  my  place  at  the 
bedside,  and  smoothing  Maggie's  long,  dark  hair,  with  in- 


40  SHILOII. 

effable  tenderness.  The  girl  opened  her  eyes,  and  once 
more  repeated  her  wailing  question  "  Isn't  it  morning  ?  " 

"  Almost,"  answered  the  mother. 

"  I'm  so  tired !  "  she  moaned  again. 

The  father  and  mother  lifted  her,  but  she  looked  dis- 
satisfied, and  half  impatient,  with  their  efforts  to  relieve  her. 
"  Nobody  holds  me  like  she  did,"  she  said,  indicating  me 
with  her  eyes. 

I  came  forward.  "Would  you  like  me  to  hold  you 
again  ?  "  I  asked. 

Her  eyes  brightened.  I  assumed  the  old  position,  and 
received  her  in  my  arms. 

"  It  feels  so  nice ! "  she  said,  faintly.  Her  mother  sat 
down  beside  her,  with  her  fingers  on  her  pulse.  The  father 
walked  the  room,  or  hung  over  the  bed's  foot,  with  a  face 
of  mute  misery. 

I  cannot  tell  how  long  I  sat  there,  watching  the  slow, 
almost  imperceptible  lapse  of  the  stream  of  life  into  the 
ocean  of  eternity ; — it  could  not  have  been  more  than  an 
hour,  but  it  seemed  ages,  ere  the  low  voice  of  Mrs.  Warren 
broke  the  silence. 

"  Our  Maggie  is  gone,"  she  said ;  adding,  almost  im- 
mediately, "Miss  Frost,  your  hard  task  is  over.  Thank 
you," 

She  lifted  the  fair,  still  form  from  my  arms,  and  I  stag- 
gered to  the  window.  A  bright  strip  of  gold  bordered  the 
eastern  horizon ;  the  morning,  for  which  that  dead  girl  had 
so  longed,  was  breaking.  Was  there  good  reason  for  hope 
that  her  eyes  had  opened  upon  a  morning  of  more  endur- 
ing glory, — a  morning  of  endless  light  and  knowledge  and 
love,  in  Christ  ? 

I  grew  sick  amid  the  whirling  uncertainties  of  the  in- 
vestigation. 

"Take  this,  Miss  Frost,  you  are  faint,"  said  a  quiet 
voice. 

I  drank  the  water,  and  then  looked  at  the  giver  in 


SHILOII.  41 

amazement.  Mrs.  Warren  was  pale,  sad,  but  quite  col- 
lected, and  gentle  as  ever.  If  there  were  tears  in  her 
heart,  they  did  not  moisten  her  eyes.  A  poignant  pity 
smote  me.  What  storms,  I  thought,  must  that  woman 
have  come  through,  to  have  attained  to  calm  such  as  this ! 
And  what  a  history  of  long  self-abnegation,  and  patient 
doing  of  "  the  duty  which  lies  nearest,"  was  discernible  in 
the  fact  that,  after  duly  closing  the  eyes  and  laying  straight 
the  limbs  of  her  dead  daughter,  her  first  care  had  been  for 
a  stranger, — overwhelmed  by  the  woful  scene  wherein  she 
stood  so  tranquil !  I  leaned  my  head  against  the  window- 
frame,  and  my  thoughts  went  wandering  off,  lost  and  be- 
wildered amid  the  mysteries — not  of  death,  not  of  revela- 
tion, but  of  life — of  this  strange  earthly  being  of  ours.  Oh, 
Life,  Life !  let  us  drink  reverently  of  the  rich,  strong,  sweet, 
bitter  cup  !  So  shall  we  learn,  Thou  Cross-Lifted  and 
Thorn-Crowned,  to  thank  Thee  for  the  kingly  gift ! 


SETTING   THE    "  EAETHLT   HOUSE5'    IN   OEDEE. 

NCE  more,  Mrs.  Warren's  mild  voice  recalled 
me  to  the  present's  realities.  Looking  at 
her,  I  seemed  to  recognize  a  visible  incarna- 
tion of  Duty,  treading  her  narrow  path  steadily, 
serenely,  unassumingly ;  neither  turning  to  the 
right  nor  left,  neither  looking  behind  nor  be- 
fore ;  but  keeping  her  eyes  always  bent  on  the 
ground,  to  make  her  footing  sure.  At  least, 
this  was  Mrs.  Warren's  outer  seeming ; — if  the 
hidden  soul  walked  in  white  robes  of  consecration  upon  the 
serene  heights  of  faith,  or  was  bound  by  chains  of  suffering 
to  some  chill  rock  of  despair,  I  could  not  tell.  From  these 
deeper  things  of  her  life,  my  eyes  were  necessarily  holden. 
"  I  have  sent,"  said  she,  "  for  some  one  to  lay  Maggie 
out.  She  will  be  here  soon.  I  know  you  are  tired,  and 
would  like  to  go  home." 

I  was  tired ;  yet  I  felt  a  strong  reluctance  to  leave  that 
beautiful  piece  of"  clay,  which  had  so  lately  given  up  its 
vital  part  in  my  arms,  while  any  tender  or  helpful  service 
remained  to  be  performed  for  it.  Those  artless  words  of 
the  dying  girl,  "Nobody  holds  me  like  she  did,"  had 
touched  some  very  deep-down  chord  in  my  heart.  It  was 
so  long  since  I  had  felt  myself  really  of  more  use  than 
another  to  any  human  being ! 

"  Is  there,  then,  nothing  more  for  me  to  do  ?  "  I  asked. 
"Nothing,  until  Aunt  Vin  comes, — perhaps  I  should 


SHILOH.  43 

say,  Miss  Lavinia  Rust,  to  you, — though  the  first  title  is 
the  only  one  in  use  among  us." 

"  She  is  not  a  relative,  then  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  is  an  elderly,  and  somewhat  eccentric,  maiden 
lady ;  who  has  somehow  slidden  into  the  office  of  laying 
out  the  dead  for  this  whole  neighborhood.  Perhaps  some 
secret  heart-sore  first  led  her  to  give  herself  to  the  work 
of  nursing,  watching,  and  similar  acts  of  self-devotion ;  and 
so,  by  degrees,  she  learned  how  to  do  the  other  sad  duty, 
and  does  it  constantly, — chiefly,  it  appears,  because  there  is 
no  one  who  can  do  it  any  better.  She  is  not  even  a  poor 
woman;  she  has  a  small  farm  of  her  own,  which  she 
manages  with  much  method  and  shrewdness." 

"  But  she  will  want  some  help,"  I  said,  after  a  moment. 

"  Not  much.  And  if  she  does,  I  doubt  if  you  are  able 
to  give  it.  I  will  help  her  myself." 

And  no  doubt  she  would  have  done  it,  as  she  did  every- 
thing else,  submissively  and  serenely.  Neverthless,  it 
pained  me  to  think  of  it,  and  I  said,  earnestly, — 

"  No,  no,  let  me  stay  and  do  it,  please.  I  am  stronger 
than  you  think.  It  was  not  so  much  the  fatigue  of  holding 
Maggie  that  overcame  me  just  now,  as  sorrowful  recollec- 
tions of  another  deathbed,  which  left  me  alone  in  the  world, 
— my  father's.  But  it  would  give  me  real  pleasure  to  ren- 
der this  last  service  to  Maggie,  if  you  will  permit  me,  and 
if  you  do  not  still  think  me  too  much  of  a  stranger." 

Just  for  one  moment  the  mother's  voice  shook.  "  You 
will  never  be  a  stranger  to  me,  after  this,"  she  faltered. 
Then,  turning  instantly  from  the  masterful  grief  to  the 
waiting,  composing  duty,  she  went  on.  "  It  is  very  kind 
of  you  to  stay,  for  Sam  wants  me,  I  know ;  and  the  break- 
fast is  to  be  got  ready ;  and  there  are  so  many  things  to  be 
done,  that  I  cannot  see  my  way  clear  to  refuse  your  assis- 
tance, if  you  really  wish  to  give  it." 

"  I  really  do,"  I  answered,  heartily.  She  gave  my  hand 
a  single,  strong  pressure,  which,  from  her,  was  more  touch- 


44  SHILOH 

ing  and  significant  than  any  words,  and  quickly  went  her 
way. 

I  looked  at  the  corpse.  Some  one — was  it  the  mother? 
had  laid  two  large  copper  coins  on  the  eyes,  a  custom  that 
always  seems  to  me  to  be  a  horrible  burlesque  upon  human- 
ity,— so  many  eyes  are  holden,  all  their  lives,  from  the  sight 
of  the  things  which  most  concern  them,  by  earth's  paltry 
coin.  I  took  them  off  with  a  shudder,  and  seating  myself 
by  the  bedside,  held  down  the  eyelids  with  a  light  pressure 
of  my  fingers.  So  sitting,  the  peacefulness  of  the  corpse 
seemed  to  be  communicated  to  me  also ;  and  for  the  time, 
earthly  anxieties  and  vicissitudes  shrank  to  microscopic 
proportions, — mere  motes  in  the  sunbeams  that  shine  down 
from  God's  countenance  into  the  hearts  of  those  who  seek 
to  find  out  His  meaning  in  life,  and  to  let  it  work  all  His 
loving  will  upon  them.  Alas!  that  those  motes  should 
ever  be  magnified,  through  our  unbelief  and  insubmission, 
into  dense  clouds  between  us  and  His  face  ;  darkening  our 
hearts,  and  bewildering  our  minds,  with  shadows  of  doubt 
and  fear ! 

Ere  long  Miss  Rust  arrived,  and  after  a  brief  pause  in 
the  kitchen,  entered  the  chamber  of  death.  She  merits  a  de- 
tailed description ;  no  queerer  character,  I  think,  will  ap- 
pear in  this  chronicle.  She  was  nearly,  or  quite,  six  feet 
tall;  large-framed,  bony,  and  angular.  Her  dress  was  of 
dark,  printed  calico ;  made  after  some  quaint  fashion  of  her 
own,  with  reference  mainly  to  economy  of  material  and 
freedom  of  motion.  On  her  head  was  a  calico  sun-bonnet, 
of  like  pattern  with  her  dress,  beneath  which  appeared  the 
plaited  border  of  a  muslin  cap.  Her  large,  coarse  features 
were  strongly  expressive  of  well-founded  self-reliance  and 
sturdy  sense ;  but  there  was  also  a  grim  sternness  about 
them,  for  which  I  was  Unprepared,  after  the  bit  of  history 
that  Mrs.  Warren  had  given  me,  and  of  which  I  learned  the 
secret  only  after  a  more  extended  observation.  Miss  Rust 
was  the  victim  of  some  curious  nervous  or  paralytic  affec- 


SHILOH.  45 

tion,  that  manifested  itself  in  a  slow,  spasmodic  jerk  or 
shake  of  the  head,  repeated  at  regular  intervals.  Evidently 
she  strove  against  this  infirmity,  which  was  yet  of  a  nature 
not  to  be  overcome;  and  the  look  of  decision  and  self- 
control  consequent  upon  that-  endeavor,  gave  to  the  mo- 
tion the  actual  force  and  character  of  a  voluntary  move- 
ment, though  it  was  really  so  irresponsible  and  meaningless ; 
and  impressed  the  beholder  with  the  idea  that  she  was  en- 
tering a  stern  and  solemn  protest  against  the  depravity  of 
the  times,  or  his  individual  vices  and  follies. 

But  Miss  Rust's  external  singularities  shrank  into  noth- 
ingness, when  once  she  opened  her  mouth.  Her  tongue 
was  of  the  Mrs.  Partington  order;  apparently  well  hung 
in  the  middle,  with  free  play  at  both  ends ;  and  aiming 
continually  at  high-sounding,  unfamiliar  words;  but  sel- 
dom making  a  wholly  triumphant  hit,  or  a  totally  incompre- 
hensible failure.  Apparently,  she  never  either  accurately 
remembered,  nor  altogether  forgot,  any  word  once  seen  or 
heard ;  to  her,  similarity  of  sound  was  identical  with  simi- 
larity of  meaning,  and  prefixes  and  suffixes  were  supposed 
to  be  obligingly  interchangeable.  The  first  remark  which 
she  addressed  to  me  well-nigh  demolished,  at  one  blow,  the 
superstructure  of  composure  which  I  had  reared  on  the 
last  half-hour's  meditations. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Miss  Frost  ?  It's  a  good  while  since 
we've  had  any  extinguished  strangers  in  Shiloh,  though 
there  isn't  any  place  where  they're  better  depreciated.  Do 
you  mean  to  stay  here  long  ?  " 

I  bit  my  lip.  The  inclination  to  laugh  was  all  the  more 
irresistible  that  it  was  perplexingly  entangled  with  recol- 
lections of  recent  solemnities,  and  a  keen  perception  of  the 
unfitness  of  the  time  and  scene  for  any  mirthful  demonstra- 
tion. 

"  Mrs.  Divine  has  promised  to  give  me  shelter  for  the 
summer,"  I  answered,  as  soon  as  I  could  trust  my  voice. 

"  Yes,  so  I've  heerd.     And  you  couldn't  find  any  better 


4:6  SHILOH. 

place  to  take  up  your  adobe  in, — Aunt  Hannah  is  a  woman 
of  imminent  virtoos,  she's  made  out  of  the  salt  and  fat  of 
the  land.  I  understand  you  come  from  the  great  necropo- 
lis of  York  ?  " — shaking  her  head  in  a  manner  to  convey 
volumes  of  disapprobation  of  that  sombre  locality. 

"  Yes — that  is  to  say,  I  am  from  New  York." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  ever  came  acrost  my  cousin  Hiram 
there— Hiram  Rust,  his  name  is.  He  keeps  an  expensatory 
on  Derision  street." 

"  No,  I  never  had  that  honor." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it ;  I  should  like  firstrate  to  hear  how 
Hiram  gits  along.  He's  a  young  man  of  uncommon  debil- 
ities, and  very  examplary,  too, — leastways  he  used  to  be 
when  he  lived  to  home.  I  hope  he  keeps  right  end  upper- 
most— speaking  figuringly,  you  know — down  in  that  '  sink 
of  moral  dilution,' — which  is  Deacon  Haineses  elias  for 
York." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  does." 

"  Your  name's  Frost,  is  it  ?  I  wonder  if  your  family 
came  aboriginally  from  Rixbury  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  I  do  not  know." 

"  Well,  I  used  to  know  a  Frost  there,  and  I  really  be- 
lieve I  see  a  likeness  to  him  in  your  liniments.  Poor  man ! 
how  he  used  to  suffer  with  the  brown-creeters !  But  he's 
diseased  now ;  he  diseased  six  years  ago." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  what  did  you  say  he  suffered 
with  ?  " 

"  The  brown-creeters — in  his  throat.  I  remember  hold- 
ing his  head  once,  for  Dr.  Smith  to  burn  them  out  with 
acrostics." 

Here  abused  gravity  gave  way,  and  rushing  to  the  win- 
dow, I  leaned  far  out,  and  tried  to  mask  my  laughter  with 
a  cough. 

"  Goodness  gracious !  "  pursued  Miss  Rust,  "  I  hope 
you  haven't  any  infection  of  the  lungs, — newmony,  or 
what  not.  But  if  you  have,  I've  got  a  proscription  that 


SHILOH.  4:< 

Dr.  Bird  calls  a  '  perfect  pacific '  for  it ; — I'll  send  it  to 
you.  There's  nothing  like  taking  a  cough  by  the  firelock. 
I've  saved  lots  of  people  from  digestion  of  the  lungs  with 
that  proscription." 

I  felt  what  horrible  indecorum  it  was,  but  I  continued 
to  shake  with  silent  laughter  until  the  tears  came/  My 
gravity  would  scarcely  have  been  routed  so  completely, 
but  for  the  suddenness  and  unexpectedness  of  the  attack 
upon  it.  Not  until  the  paroxysm  had  worn  itself  out, 
could  I  venture  to  face  Miss  Lavinia's  vocabulary.  Then  I 
turned,  and  said,  "  Now,  I  am  ready  to  help  you,  whenever 
you  please." 

"  Laws !  you  don't  look  as  if  you  could  help  a  butterfly 
brush  his  wings.  But  looks  is  deceitful ;  I've  seen  a  good 
many  women  that  looked .  as  if  a  good  gusto  of  wind 
would  blow  them  out  of  consistence,  who  could  stand 
more  than  I  could.  I  'spose  it's  the  sperit  that  does  it. 
Speritous  strength  goes  a  good  way  sometimes." 

Miss  Rust  then  addressed  herself  to  her  task  with  such 
vigor  and  skill,  that  my  share  of  the  labor  was  next  to 
nothing.  Meanwhile,  the  swift  stream  of  her  talk  ran  in 
and  out  among  the  lights  and  shadows  of  Shiloh's  social 
life,  bearing  an  odd  company  of  dismembered  and  mis- 
matched derivatives  on  its  meandering  flow.  It  suffered 
no  inteiTuption  until — seeing  her  about  to  uncover  the  fair, 
statuesque  form  of  the  dead  girl  more  than  seemed  to  be 
needful — I  seized  her  arm  with  a  sudden  ejaculation ;  when 
she  dropped  her  napkin,  and  looked  around  startled  and 
scared. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  faltered.  "  Have  you  seen  a  sperit  ?  " 

"  No  ma'am.  Pardon  me,  but  is  that  disrobing  really 
necessary  ?  Do  you  think  she  would  like  it  ?  " 

The  good  woman  looked  intensely  disgusted,  and  her 
head  jerked  violently.  "  I  don't  mean  to  dis-rub  her," 
said  she,  shortly,  "  I  shall  wash  her  as  carefully  as  if  she 
was  a  baby.  And  I  never  heard  of  enterring  a  corpse  with- 


48  SHILOII. 

out  washing  it.  I  think  the  body  ought  to  be  putrified 
from  earthly  irruption,  after  it's  dead,  just  to  show  that 
we  believe  Our  Saviour  will  do  as  much  for  the  soul." 

I  drew  back,  satisfied  to  find  that  there  was  a  latent 
beauty  and  fitness  in  her  proceeding, — mortified,  too,  that 
I  had  been  blind  to  the  spiritual  analogy  which  was  so  plain 
to  this  uncouth,  illiterate,  absurd,  old  maid. 

When  all  was  done,  and  the  fair  "earthly  house" 
draped  in  white, — to  typify  those  robes  of  righteousness 
which,  I  trusted,  Christ  would  fold  around  the  liberated 
soul, — I  went  out  to  a  small  strip  of  carelessly-cultivated 
ground,  called  a  garden,  where  I  had  seen,  from  the  win- 
dow, a  few  flowers  struggling  in  the  embrace  of  number- 
less lusty  weeds.  Near  by  I  discovered  Mr.  Warren, 
seated  on  a  fallen  fence,  with  that  drooping  head,  and 
nerveless  frame,  so  expressive  of  bitter,  hopeless  sorrow ; — 
so,  after  gathering  all  the  white  blossoms  I  could  find,  I 
went  up  to  him. 

"  May  God  who  has  sent  this  sorrow  upon  you,  sir,  send 
unto  you  '  also,  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  comforter ! ' ' 

"  What's  the  use  of  talking  to  me  in  that  way  ?  you 
know  I  don't  believe  it,"  he  answered,  without  stirring. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  sir.  Those  who  do,  never  feel  such 
bitterness  of  grief  as  you  are  now  indulging." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " — lifting  his  head. 

Seeing  that  he  was  inclined  to  talk,  I  sat  down  near 
him,  and  began  tying  my  flowers  together,  as  I  answered ; 
— "  I  do  know,  sir.  When  my  father  died,  he  was  all  that 
I  had ;  he  had  been  my  mother,  and  sister,  and  brother 
for  years.  Yet  I  was  helped  to  see  that  God  did  right- 
eously in  taking  him  \into  Himself,  and  to  endure  my  loss 
with  patience." 

ME.  WABBEN  (angrily).  He  did  not  do  right  in  taking 
my  Maggie ! 

I.  It  seems  to  me  that  even  human  wisdom  might 
teach  you  that  yoii  are  possibly  wrong  there.  Has  life 


SHILOH.  4:9 

been  so  invariably  pleasant  to  you,  that  you  must  needs 
feel  it  to  be  a  wrong  to  Maggie  that  she  is  spared  the  bur- 
den and  heat  of  its  full  day  ?  Have  you  never  seen  girls 
who  have  lived  only  to  drag  on  a-  blighted,  bruised  exist- 
ence, or  who  have  gone  grievously  astray,  or  have  become 
neglected,  ill-used,  cowed,  and  heart-broken  wives?" 

He  dropped  his  face  in  his  hands.  Perhaps  the  crushed 
and  hopeless  expression  of  his  own  wife's  meek  face  rose 
befqre  him.  But  he  struggled  with  the  feeling,  whatever 
it  was,  and  overcame  it. 

"  What  you  say  may  be  true,"  said  he,  "  but  life  is  very 
sweet  to  them  all,  nevertheless.  No  matter  how  bruised 
and  broken  the  heart,  it  continually  sends  forth  new  shoots. 
No  matter  how  dark  the  sky,  there  is  still  light  enough  for 
us  to  behold  Nature  and  Art,  and  to  enjoy  them.  Am  I 
not  a  striking  example  of  this  fact  ?  Blasted  and  marred 
from  my  cradle, — a  laughing  stock  to  some,  an  eyesore  to 
others,  a  clog  and  a  mortification  to  myself, — I  still  cling 
tenaciously  to  life;  tasting  lingeringly  its  sweet,  and 
ignoring  its  bitter,  as  best  I  may.  Ah !  why  was  it  made 
so  bitter,  when  it  was  forced  upon  me  without  my  seeking 
it !  Why  was  it  made  so  sweet,  since  it  will  be  taken 
from  me,  sooner  or  later,  without  asking  my  consent !  " 

I.  The  sweet  and  the  bitter  have  their  uses,  I  think. 
The  bitter  helps  us  to  understand  what  a  life  of  endless  sin 
and  woe  would  be,  and  leads  us  to  avoid  it.  The  sweet 
makes  us  the  more  eager  to  lay  hold  upon  that  "  far  more 
exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory  "  that  shall  be  re- 
vealed. 

MK.  W.  (looking  at  me  searchingly).  Tell  me  honestly, 
Miss  Frost,  do  you  never  have  any  doubts  of  the  truth 
of  the  things  that  you  talk  about  so  glibly  ? 

I.  Yes,  sir,  now  and  then. 

MR.  W.    (triumphantly}.     Ah!  I  thought    so.     Well, 
what  do  you  do  with  them  ? 
3 


50  BHILOH. 

I.  Sometimes,  I  just  quietly  lay  them  aside.  And  on 
the  morrow,  when  I  look  for  them,  lo  !  they  are  gone  ! 

MK.  W.  But  that  is  a  pure  act  of  the  will. 

I.  Well,  what  was  a  man's  will  given  him  for,  if  it 
was  not  to  help  him  to  resist  evil,  and  hold  fast  that  which 
is  good  ? 

MK.  W.  But  is  not  a  man's  reason  that  .part  of  him 
which  constitutes  his  superiority  over  the  brutes  ? 

I.  ~No  more  than  his  conscience,  I  think. 

MK.  W.  Well,  I  hardly  think  his  conscience  would 
justify  him  in  using  his  will  in  opposition  to  his  reason. 

I.  Not  so  fast,  sir.  You  assume  that  reason  and  reason- 
ing are  synonyma.  If  you  had  heard  as  many  polemics  as 
I  have,  you  would  hardly  espouse  that  view  of  them. 
And  I  hold  it  to  be  a  far  more  reasonable  act  for  a  man  to 
plant  himself  firmly  "on  that  faith  which,  in  his  best  and 
soberest  moods,  both  his  reason  and  his  conscience  have 
approved,  saying :  "  Here  I  stand,  though  the  earth  reel, 
and  the  heavens  fall ,"  than  it  is  weakly  to  suffer  himself 
to  be  knocked  about  by  every  wind  of  doctrine,  and  every 
wave  of  doubt,  or  to  be  led  by  the  nose  by  every  wile  of 
the  devil. 

MK.  W.  But  how  do  you  know  that  the  doubt  is  not 
the  true  thing  ? 

I.  Because  doubt  is  not  the  normal  condition  of  the 
mind,  nor  the  spirit  in  which  life's  economy  must  be  car- 
ried on.  If  you  doubt  your  food,  you  starve ;  if  you 
doubt  nature,  you  reap  no  harvests;  if  you  doubt  love, 
you  live  and  die  alone.  Moreover,  to  doubt  an  error  is 
not  to  gain  a  truth.  For,  when  the  truth  is  possessed, 
error  is  known  for  itself,  and  doubt  is  gone.  This  is 
the  weak  point  in  scepticism :  it  proves  nothing,  it  only 
denies.  There  is  no  rest  an  it. 

MR.  W.  (frankly).  You  are  right  there.  When  once 
a  man  begins  to  doubt,  there  is  no  telling  where  he  will 
stop.  He  doubts  his  friends,  his  neighbors,  'himself;  he 


SHILOH.  51 

doubts  motives,  means,  aims ;  he  doubts  his  own  senses ; 
he  gets  to  doubt  his  own  being.  The  ground  slides 
continually  under  his  feet,  like  quicksands.  But  is  it 
always,  possible  to  will  doubt  away  ? 

I.  Perhaps  not,  sir,  any  more  than  it  is  possible  to  will 
sorrow  away.  It  is  right  that  some  doubts  should  be 
solved.  Others  must  be  borne  for  a  time,  as  sorrows  must 
be  borne.  In  such  cases,  there  is  the  same  remedy  for 
doubt  that  there  is  for  sorrow — prayer.  And  though  the 
prayer  may  not  at  once  solve  the  one,  or  remove  the  other, 
— since  God,  seeing  not  as  man  sees,  but  into  the  depths  of 
life,  may  discern  that  it  is  needful  to  discipline  and  to  in- 
struct  even  by  these  stern  teachers, — yet  the  fervent,  hum- 
ble prayer  will  sustain  the  heart  under  the  sorrow,  and 
enable  the  reason  to  endure  the  doubt. 

ME.  "VV.  (turning  away  with  a  disappointed  air) .  I  hoped 
your  remedy  Avould  be  more  real  and  efficacious. 

I.  More  real !  What  would  you  have  ?  Is  not  prayer 
the  one  Divine  and  spiritual  instinct  which  distinguishes 
man  above  the  brutes  ?  If  ever  you  owned  an  intelligent 
dog  or  horse,  there  have  been  times  when  you  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  deny  him  the  possession  of  both  reason  and  con- 
science ;  but  you  never,  for  one  moment,  suspected  him 
of  praying.  You  knew  that  the  idea  of  communion  with 
God,  the  Infinite,  never  entered  his  head.  But  all  human 
beings  pray ; — no  race  so  low,  so  savage,  so  brutish,  but  it 
makes  to  itself  idols  whereunto  to  pray !  Does  this  uni- 
versal instinct  of  the  race  teach  nothing  ?  Did  you  ever 
know  bird,  or  bee,  or  fish,  or  hound,  or  deer,  to  be  gifted 
Avith  an  utterly  useless,  unmeaning,  superfluous  instinct? 
And  is  man — the  highest,  the  mos't  perfect,  creature  of  them 
all — the  only  abortive  one  ?  Given  an  inherent,  universal 
impulse  to  pray ;  and  the  necessity  and  the  efficacy  of 
prayer  follow  as  inevitable  corollaries.  For  exercise  is  es- 
sential to  the  maintenance  of  life.  As  the  disused  limb,  the 
muscles  never  brought  into  play,  become  rigid,  useless, 


52  SHILOH. 

diseased ;  so  the  soul  that  never  lifts  itself  in  prayer — the 
highest  expression  and  manifestation  of  its  life — becomes 
equally  torpid,  paralyzed,  unsound. 

There  was  no  immediate  answer.  Mr.  Warren's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  blue  crown  of  a  distant  hill,  with  a 
dreary,  hopeless  expression,  unlike  anything  I  had  ever 
seen  in  his  face.  Finally,  he  said,  in  a  broken,  disconnect- 
ed, listless  way, — 

"  I  almost  wish  I  could  think  as  you  do.  The  most 
superstitious  belief  would  be  more  comfortable  than  this 
ever-shifting  doubt.  But  the  habits  of  youth  and  middle 
age  become  fetters  to  the  mind  and  limbs  of  later  years. 
I  don't  know  as  I  could  shake  them  off, — if  I  cared 
to ;  and  I  don't  care  for  anything — much — now  that 
Maggie—" 

The  sentence  was  left  unfinished. 

For  grief  such  as  Mr.  Warren's,  it  is  hard  to  find  words 
of  comfort.  One  can  point  to  the  soothing  power  of  time, 
to  be  sure  ;  but  time,  without  God,  is  more  likely  to  harden 
than  to  heal.  I  worked  on  in  silence,  therefore,  until  my 
floral  emblems  were  finished ;  then  I  held  them  up  for  in- 
spection. 

"  I  have  made  these  for  Maggie,  sir.  I  wish  to  put  this 
little  cross  on  her  bosom,  and  the  wreath  in  her  hand,  show- 
ing thereby  that  they  who  patiently  bear  the  cross  .shall 
win  the  crown.  The  cross  is  a  tiny  thing,  you  see,  not  larger 
than  is  often  worn  for  ornament,  while  the  wreath  is  mas- 
sive,— by  which  I  would  suggest  also  that  rich,  triumphant 
saying  of  St.  Paul's,  '  I  reckon  that  the  sufferings  of  this 
present  time  are  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the  glory 
which  shall  be  revealed  in  us  ! '  These  four  or  five  single 

G 

flowers  I  shall  scatter  over  her  feet,  to  show  how  few  and 
scattered  must  have  been  the  joys  of  earth,  even  if  she  had 
lived  to  taste  them.  Have  I  your  permission  to  place  them 
thus?" 

MR.  WARREN  (huskily).      Do  what  you  like  with  her, 


SHILOH.  53 

now, — I  know  you  mean  well.  And  don't  think  I  am  too 
rough  and  crabbed  and  sneering,  to  feel  your  kindness  to 
Maggie. 

I  disposed  the  flowers  around  the  corpse,  according  to 
my  design  ; — their  symbolism,  you  will  not  fail  to  see,  being 
intended  for  the  living  rather  than  the  dead ; — for  I  knew 
not  if  Maggie  had  ever  borne  any  cross,  or  aspired  to  any 
crown.  For  her,  I  had  ceased  to  have  either  hope  or  fear ; 
— having  left  her  with  a  prayer,  in  God's  tender  mercy,  I 
felt  no  disposition  to  take  her  thence,  even  in  idea, — that 
being  the  only  safe  place  in  the  universe  for  her  benighted, 
undeveloped  soul.  Mrs.  Warren  came  in,  for  a  moment, 
and  looked  at  my  work  with  a  face  wherein  the  gravity 
grew  ever  sweeter  till  it  bordered  on  joy.  "Aunt  Vin  " 
bestowed  on  it  some  qualified  admiration. 

"  It's  very  statistically  done,"  she  remarked,  jerking  her 
head  at  it  grimly,  "  and  shows  you  might  be  a  painter,  if 
you  ambitioned  it.  But  isn't  it  a  leetle  mite  Romanesque  ? 
I  hope  you  don't  belong  to  the  Pusseyites  or  the  Jeshuites, 
or  any  of  those  people  with  queer  pigments  in  their  brains, 
who  set  more  store  by  the  shell  of  things  than  they  do  by 
the  kernel." 

Mr.  Warren  came,  too,  after  a  time,  bringing  me  a  deep- 
tinted,  half-blown  damask  rose. 

"Could  you  find  a  place  for  this  ?"  said  he.  "Maggie 
liked  bright  colors.  And  I  should  like  to  have  something 
from  her  father  somewhere  about  her." 

"  Certainly ;  she  shall  hold  it  in  her  hand  with  the 
wreath.  You  know,  Mr.  Warren,  that  red  is  the  color  of 
Love ;  so  this  rose  may  fitly  image,  not  only  your  own  ten- 
der affection  for  your  darling,  but  also  that  mighty  love  of 
Christ,  as  shown  in  His  precious  bloodshedding  for  us; 
without  which,  we  should  all  struggle  vainly  under  the 
crosses  of  earth,  look  for  no  heavenly  crown,  and  be  for- 
ever buried  in  the  darkness  of  spiritual  death." 

Mr.  Warren  turned  away,  looking  half  displeased.     I 


54:  SHILOH. 

was  well  aware  that  this  last  meaning  was  alien  to  his 
thought,  but  I  was  glad  that  he  could  not  look  at  his  rose, 
henceforth,  without  being  reminded  of  it.  For,  though  I 
expected  no  swift  miracle  of  conversion  to  be  wrought  in 
him,  no  one  could  tell  what  planting,  or  what  watering,  it 
might  please  God  to  bless  with  slow — perhaps  almost  im- 
perceptible— yet  steady  increase. 


THE    REACTION". 

WENT  home  through  the  ripened  glory  of 
the  morning ;  noticing — with  those  sharpened 
and  concentrated  senses  that  city-refugees  some- 
times bring  to  lovely  rural  pictures — the  vivid, 
lustrous  green  of  the  turf,  t;ie  bright  hues  and 
delicate  odors  of  the  flowers,  the  sharp,  clear  out- 
line of  verdure  and  rock,  the  soft,  pure  depth  of 
the  sky,  the  infinite  beauty  and  diversity  of  form 
and  color  that  enriched  my  way.  For  the  first  time  in 
many  days,  my  heart  was  singing  within  me.  I  felt  well 
pleased  with  my  night's  work:  out  of  that  shadow  of 
death,  there  seemed  to  have  been  born  unto  me  new  hope 
and  meaning  in  life.  I  even  fancied  that  Bona  walked  hand 
in  hand  with  me  all  the  way,  and  that  Mala  had  departed 
for  a  considerable  time. 

Mrs.  Divine  met  me  at  the  door,  and  inquired,  in  her 
ringing,  cheery  voice,  "  Well,  how  is  Maggie  Warren  this 
morning  ?  " 

"  She  is  dead,"  I  answered,  briefly. 

Her  face  grew  grave  and  sympathetic  at  once.  But 
Mrs.  Prescott,  busy  in  the  kitchen,  caught  the  words,  and 
delivered  herself  of  a  quick,  caustic  commentary, — 

"It's  a  mercy  to  her  and  the  neighborhood!  That 
miserable  Warren  will  have  one  child  the  less  to  bring  up 
in  infidelity." 


56  SHILOH. 

MALA  (ironically,  through  my  lips).  Thank  you,  madam. 
Shall  I  convey  your  consolatory  message  to  the  afflicted 
family  ? 

MBS.  PEESCOTT  (with  heightened  color}.  Just  as  you 
please.  I  ain't  afraid  to  stand  to  it  that  the  less  family 
that  man  has,  to  train  up  in  the  way  they  shouldn't  go,  the 
letter. 

I  (in  a  cold,  hard  tone).  If  that  rule  operated  universally, 
is  is  perhaps  easier  for  us  to  discern  the  houses  which  Death 
would  visit,  than  those  which  he  would  spare.  Thousands 
bring  up  their  children  in  practical  infidelity,  having  less 
excuse  than  Mr.  Warren  has.  He  teaches  what  he  believes. 
They  believe  one  thing,  and  teach — by  implication — an- 
other. 

BON  A  (softly,  to  me).  Are  you  "speaking  the  truth  in 
love  ?  " 

I  took  no  notice  of  her  inquiry,  but  went  up  to  my 
room,  with  a  mortal  fear  chilling  my  heart.  Nor  was  it 
groundless :  I  found  waiting  there,  ready  for  my  shoulders, 
the  same  old  burden  which  the  little  excitement  of  last 
night,  and  the  hope  of  doing  a  good  deed,  had  enabled  me 
transiently  to  throw  off.  Wearily  I  took  it  up,  and  a  great 
discouragement  came  over  me.  And  Mala,  of  course,  took 
delight  in  pushing  me  over  the  brink  of  the  moral  precipice 
upon  which  I  trembled. 

"  You  expected  a  great  deal  from  this  '  doing  something 
for  Christ,'  as  you  so  nicely  phrased  it, — have  you  found 
it  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  admitted  to  her  and  myself,  that  I  had  not. 

MALA.  You  even  fancied,  this  morning,  that  a  life  of 
this  sort  of  work  would  bring  you,  first  healing,  then  hap- 
piness ; — do  you  think  so  still  ? 

I  confessed  that  such  a  fancy,  if  I  had  ever  had  it,  had 
vanished  utterly,  leaving  not  so  much  as  the  shine  of  its 
wings  in  the  distance. 

MALA.  And  all  that  very  good  and  proper  talk,  where- 


SHILOH.  57 

with  you  so  abundantly  favored  Mr.  Warren, —  is  it  the 
faithful  expression  of  your  feeling  now  ? 

Moodily  I  acknowledged  that  if  Mr.  Warren  were  then 
before  me,  the  chances  were  that  he  might  utter  what 
blasphemy  or  infidelity  he  chose,  without  much  danger  of 
interruption. 

MALA  (triumphantly).  Perhaps  you  will  take  my  advice 
next  time,  and — 

"  Miss  Frost,  your  breakfast  is  ready." 

I  looked  up.  Mrs.  Divine  was  standing  in  the  door, — a 
striking  impersonation,  I  thought,  of  steady,  homely,  health- 
ful Common  Sense. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  I  don't  want 
any,  Mrs.  Divine." 

She  looked  at  me  narrowly,  then  asked,  abruptly,  "  What 
did  Mrs.  Warren  give  you  for  lunch  last  night  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  know.     I  never  looked  at  it." 

"  Umph !  I  thought  so.  I  suppose  the  world  doesn't 
look  very  bright  to  you  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  believe  it  does  not." 

"  And  a  good  reason  why !  You've  been  up  all  night, 
hard  at  work ;  you've  been  through  with  the  trying  scenes 
of  a  deathbed ;  and  you've  eaten  nothing  to  keep  your 
strength  up.  I  was  reading  in  one  of  your  books  last  night, 
that  'mind  is  superior  to  matter ; '  but  the  writer  forgot  to 
add  that  mind  and  matter  have  a  good  deal  in  common. 
At  least,  as  long  as  mind  is  tied  to  matter,  it  can't  do  much 
business  without  consulting  its  partner.  And  when  a  per- 
son's tired  and  "hungry,  or  faint,  his  views  of  life  ain't  apt 
to  be  bright — or  correct.  Come  down  stairs,  right  away, 
and  eat  a  good  breakfast ;  and  then  go  to  bed,  and  get  a 
good  sleep ;  and  if  things  don't  look  brighter  after  that, 
we'll  see  what's  to  be  done  next.  One  thing  you  may  put 
down  for  certain,  child — that  there's  no  trouble  so  deep 
that  there  isn't  some  remedy  strong  enough  to  reach  it." 

I  submitted  to  her  guidance  like  a  child.  And  after  the 
3* 


58  SHILOH. 

sleep  had  been  duly  sought,  found,  and  let  go  again, 
"  things  "  certainly  did  look  brighter.  I  wondered  at  my 
late  miserable  subjugation  to  Mala,  and  called  Bona  to  my 
side. 

"  Tell  me,  if  you  can,"  I  said,  humbly,  "  why  it  was 
that  I  fell  so  completely  and  helplessly  into  Mala's  hands, 
just  now,  when  I  was  so  fully  persuaded  that  I  had  escaped 
from  her,  for  a  time,  and  was  hopefully  entering  upon  a  new 
and  better  era  of  my  life." 

"  The  cause  was  complex,"  returned  Bona.  "  In  your 
temporary  exaltation  of  mind,  you  fancied  yourself  so 
secure  that  you  forgot  to  watch  and  pray,  lest  you  enter 
into  temptation.  Mrs.  Prescott's  harsh,  though  not  alto- 
gether unjust  remark,  jarred  rudely  upon  your  awakened 
sensibilities.  You  were  physically  exhausted,  and  as  Mrs. 
Divine  told  you,  body  and  mind  act  and  react  upon  each 
other.  Finally,  if  you  want  the  whole  truth,  you  are  still 
thinking  of,  and  striving  for,  present,  rather  than  eternal 
peace,  earthly  distraction  more  than  heavenly  consolation." 

"  Oh,  Bona  !  "  I  murmured,  reproachfully 

"  It  Is  true,"  she  answered,  steadily.  "  I  will  not  say 
anything  about  the  curiosity,  or  the  sad  unrest  which 
helped  to  induce  you  to  go  to  the  Wan-ens, — perhaps  hu- 
man motives  can  never  be  quite  pure.  Your  chief  mistake 
was  that  you  thought  to  earn  present  peace  by  doing 
Christ's  work,  much  as  a  man  means  to  earn  his  daily  bread 
by  carting  sand  or  laying  bricks.  Whereas,  he  who 
would  do  our  Lord  faithful  service,  must  set  himself 
thereto  as  a  sculptor  does  to  Art ;  thinking  of  daily  bread, 
pleasure,  fame,  only  as  things  which  may  come  to  him 
through  his  work,  but  are  never  to  be  confounded  with  its 
object.  Art  is  dearer  to  him  than  they  all ;  and  his  work 
in  her  service  is  less  a  labor  than  a  love ;  less  a  means  to 
an  end,  than  a  self-forgetting  worship. ! " 

"  Was  not  my  work  at  the  Warrens  well  done,  then  ?  " 
I  faltered. 


SHILOH.  59 

"  Very  well,  in  the  maip.  But  that  was  because  the 
Spirit  of  God  worked  with  you.  To  Him,  therefore,  be  all 
the  praise  ! " 

Her  words  confounded  me.  I  felt  keenly  their  force 
and  directness.  Yet,  as  I  considered  them-  carefully,  pac- 
ing absently  to  and  fro,  I  discerned  in  them  quite  as  much 
cause  for  hope  as  discouragement.  For  he  who  knows  the 
exact  nature  of  his  disease,  has  only  to  set  about  seeking 
the  remedy.  And  in  this  case,  there  was  no  mistaking  it. 
"  O  Christ ! "  I  murmured,  "  enter  Thou  into  my  secret 
thoughts,  and  lead  them,  as  only  Thou  canst,  up  their 
Mount  of  Transfiguration  !  " 

When  I  recovered  consciousness  of  time  and  place,  I 
found  that  I  had  been  standing, — nobody  knows  how  long, — 
staring  vacantly  into  my  fireplace ;  which  is  filled,  accord- 
ing to  the  quaint  old  fashion  of  the  place,  with  the  feathery 
green  of  asparagus.  Have  ^  never  described  my  room?1 
I  beg  its  pardon  ! — it  deserved  better  things  of  me. 

It  is  a  large,  square,  low-studded  chamber,  with  a  huge 
beam  running  athwart  the  ceiling, — calculated  to  inspire 
implicit  confidence  in  the  building's  strength.  It  has 
white-washed  walls  on  three  sides,  and  on  the  other,  a 
dark  wainscot  of  oak,  in  the  midst  of  which  is  the  queer 
high  mantel,  and  the  fireplace.  Its  furniture  is  a  study  in 
chronology.  A  high-post  bedstead  gratifies  no  aesthetic 
need,  but,  with  its  snowy  linen,  homespun  blankets,  and 
quilted  and  stuffed  counterpane  (a  miracle  of  patience 
and  ingenuity),  answers  every  demand  of  weariness,  and 
deserves  respect,  therefore,  for  fulfilling  the  chief  end  of 
its  being, — which  is  more  than  we  humans  do,  as  a  rule ! 
There  is  a  stiff  company  of  antique,  straight-backed,  ma- 
hogany chairs,  black  with  age,  and  shabbily  genteel  with 
upholstery  of  threadbare  hair-cloth,  and  rows  of  tarnished 
brass  nails, — picturesque  objects  to  look  at,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain dignity  of  immemorial  descent  about  them;  but  a 
plebeian  Boston  rocker,  brand-new,  furnishes  more  artistic 


60  SHILOH. 

curves  for  use.  There  is  a  quaint,  dingy,,  wizened,  stilted 
table,  that  irresistibly  reminds  me  of  a  mummy.  There  is 
a  very  light-colored,  modern  dressing-table  that,  not  less  un- 
avoidably, suggests  a  mushroom.  Over  the  latter,  an  ancient 
looking-glass  is  suspended  from  the  wall,  at  an  actite  angle ; 
having,  for  its  upper  panel,  a  curious  composition  in  color, 
in  the  Chinese  School  of  Art,  whose  intent  I  have  failed  to 
discover.  There  is  a  cumbrous  structure,  mounted  on  slen- 
der, carved  legs,  which  my  hostess  calls  a  "  chest  of  draw- 
ers ; "  whereof  the  design  must  have  been  handed  down 
from  the  days  when  "  there  were  giants  in  the  earth," — the 
top  drawer  being  quite  out  of  my  reach,  even  though  I  sup- 
plement my  height  with  a  chair.  There  is  no  carpet ;  but 
the  unpainted  floor  is  white  with  manifold  scrubbings ;  and 
after  some  acquaintance  with  it,  I  am  growing  sceptical 
whether  carpets  are,  in  summer  time,  the  luxuries  we  are 
wont  to  think.  Mrs.  Prescott — the  grim  embodiment  of 
uncompromising  neatness — avers  that  they  are  only  hiding 
places  for  dirt,  at  any  time. 

"  The  dust>,"  says  she,  "  sinks  into  'em,  and  slinks  under 
'em,  to  be  raised  and  settled  over  again,  at  every  sweeping, 
till  both  the  carpet  and  floor  are  nothing  but  nastiness. 
No  carpet  shall  ever  again  be  nailed  down,  in  any  house  of 
mine; — I  won't  have  anything  that  can't  be  shaken  and 
aired,  and  the  floor  cleaned  under  it,  every  day,  no  matter 
what  the  fashion  is." 

By  way  of  outlook,  my  room  has  two  small  windows, 
in  time-browned,  worm-eaten  frames.  The  panes  of  glass 
arc  so  small  and  so  imperfect, — setting  the  objects  seen 
through  them  at  sixes  and  sevens, — that  it  is  plain  they 
must  have  experienced  the  restraint,  directly  or  by  heredi- 
tary transmission,  of  the  old,  oppressive  tax  on  glass, 
which  made  that  commodity  a  subject  of  strict  economy. 
All  the  windows  of  this  ancient  structure,  by  the  way,  ex- 
cept on  the  front,  have  a  curious  irregularity  of  position, 
seen  from  the  outside ;  being  subject  to  no  external  rule, 


SHILOH.  61 

but  only  obedient  to  the  hidden  law  of  interior  fitness  and 
convenience — an  arrangement  which  has  manifest  advanta- 
ges. How  many  rooms,  in  modern  dwellings,  would  be 
unspeakably  more  enjoyable,  if  a  certain  window  could  be 
shoved  a  yard  to  the  right  or  left ;  but  the  inexorable  ne- 
cessity of  putting  it  on  a  line  with  some  other  window,  ex- 
ternally, was  neither  to  be  set  aside  nor  overcome,  in  the 
builder's  conventionally  moulded  mind,  and  so  there  is  no 
spot  in  all  their  length  and  breadth  pleasantly  adapted  to 
piano,  sofa,  or  bedstead.  This  old  manse  is  hampered  by 
no  such  arbitrary  rule ;  consequently,  the  windows  are  pre- 
cisely where  they  should  be,  for  the  highest  internal  beauty 
and  comfort;  and  its  exterior  has,  withal,  an  expansive,  . 
unconventional,  hearty,  and  habitable  expression,  which  is 
a  better  thing  than  regularity  of  form.  When  will  our 
domestic  architects  learn  that  beauty  is  far  less  likely  to  be 
found  in  uniformity  than  in  its  opposite, — symmetry  and 
balance,  which  are  more  essential,  being  easily  attainable 
without  it !  And  why  must  the  lives  we  live,  as  well  as 
the  houses  we  build,  be  chiefly  directed  to  the  attain- 
ment of  certain  external  effects ;  to  gain  which,  much  inte- 
rior beauty,  fitness,  and  Tightness,  must  be  sacrificed  or 
compromised  ?  But  my  windows  are  giving  us  a  deeper 
view  into  things  social  and  spiritual  than  we  had  counted 
upon, — let  us  go  back  to  their  material  outlook. 

One  is  thickly  shaded  by  the  centenarian  pear-tree, 
aforementioned,  and  looks  to  the  south, — taking  in  its  wav 
the  riotous  garden,  the  farther  crest  of  Chestnut  Hill,  the 
white  church,  the  grey  school-house,  a  farm-house,  painted 
red,  and  a  dark  border  line  of  forest.  The  other  com- 
mands a  wide  view  over  a  varied  tract  of  country ;  the 
nearest  feature  being  a  vividly  green  meadow,  dotted  with 
great,  gnarled,  leafy  apple-trees ;  through  which  a  brook 
goes  singing  and  shining,  and  playing  "peep-oh!"  with 
me  from  among  tall  grasses,  pointed  leaves  of  calamus  and 
iris,  and  all  the  lawless  and  vagrant  growths  that  huddle 


62  SHILOH. 

together  on  its  "borders.  This  view  would  be  one  of  still 
life,  indeed,  only  that  afar  over  the  meadows  there  is  an 
opening,  where  a  brown  bend  of  road  is  seen  ;  upon  which, 
at  irregular  intervals,  a  primitive  wagon,  attached  to  a 
sleepy  horse,  guided  by  a  sleepier  driver ;  or  a  slow-moving 
cart  and  oxen  ;  or  a  stout  countryman  with  a  stick,  driving 
a  pig  or  a  flock  of  sheep  before  him ;  appear  suddenly  from 
behind  a  screen  of  verdure,  glide  slowly  across  the  inter- 
vening space,  and  vanish  behind  a  similar  screen,  like  fig- 
ures in  a  dream.  And  these  ever-recurring  glimpses  of  hu- 
man life — too  remote  to  be  intrusive,  yet  near  enough  to 
remind  me  of  the  innumerable  and  secret  ties,  by  which 
at  every  moment  of  our  lives,  we  are  bound  to  a  common 
humanity — save  the  scene  from  that  sad  loneliness  of  ex- 
pression, which  is  the  inevitable  peculiarity  of  views  made 
up  of  natural  objects  only.  Yet  it  seems  mournfully 
enough  typical,  too,  of  the  evanescence  of  human  life, 
compared  with  the  works  of  Nature, — hills  and  dales, 
rocks  and  streams, — things  which  change  so  slowly  that 
they  seem  to  us  unalterable  and  everlasting  ;  while  man's 
appearance  among  them  is  scarcely  more  enduring  or  mem- 
orable than  those  gliding,  panoramic  figures  in  the  dis- 
tance ! 


•VTI. 

EXPLORATIONS — KTJRAL,    MORAL   AND    PAROCHIAL. 

ITTING  by  my  western  window,  after  I 
had  written  you  my  last  letter,  a  fever  of 
exploration  seized  me.  That  point  in  the 
northwestern  landscape,  where  the  ground 
dipped  into  a  dell  or  a  ravine,  caught  my  gaze 
and  my  imagination.  What  sort  of  a  place 
was  it  likely  to  be?  Cool  and  shady,  doubt- 
less, for  I  could  see  great  balls  and  cones  of 
foliage,  held  aloft  by  sunken  tree-trunks.  Beautified  with 
the  ripple  and  gleam  of  water,  surely,  for  the  brook  plainly 
knew  the  way  thither,  and  took  it,  in  its  own  delightful, 
meandering  fashion.  I  put  on  my  hat  and  followed  it.  Leo, 
whom  I  encountered  on  the  way,  accepted  an  invitation 
to  follow  me,  without  the  ceremony  of  putting  on  the  hat ! 
Having  reached  the  meadow's  limit,  my  tinkling  guide 
darted  under  a  fence,  which  I  was  forced  to  climb.  Then, 
dropping  on  a  soft  bank  of  moss,  I  found  myself  in  one  of 
the  loveliest,  dreamiest,  shadow-haunted  nooks  conceivable. 
The  brook  flowed  suddenly,  with  a  low  and  liquid  note, 
into  a  deep,  dark,  clear  basin,  bordered,  on  one  side,  by  a 
moss-enamelled  rock,  and  on  the  other  by  a  steep,  ferny 
bank,  embossed  with  black  free-roots, — all  overarched  by 
thickly  interlacing  boughs  of  tall  trees,  through  which 
the  sunshine  trickled  scantily,  in  shining,  golden  drops. 
What  a  place  for  a  troop  of  naiads  to  bathe !  I  half  ex- 
pected to  see  the  lovely  ^Egle  herself  rise  from  the  basin's 


04  SHILOH. 

clear  depths,  like  Venus  of  old  from  the  sea.  Instead 
thereof,  Leo  plunged  in,  and  paddled  about  with  a  face  of 
serene  enjoyment. 

From  this  point,  the  brook's  banks  continually  gained 
in  altitude,  taking  the  form  of  a  rough,  rocky,  wooded 
cliff,  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other,  of  a  steep,  but  smooth 
and  green,  hillside,  shaded  here  and  there  by  huge,  wide- 
spreading  trees,  among  which  I  noticed  an  enormous  tulip- 
tree,  a  very  Anak  of  its  race.  Between  these  curiously 
diverse  banks,  the  brook  ran,  crept,  sparkled  and  sung — 
tumbled,  too,  once  and  again, — but  altogether  as  if  it  en- 
joyed it ;  for  a  shout  of  laughter  accompanied  its  fall,  and 
then  it  went  on,  giggling  and  gurgling  to  itself,  with  occa- 
sional spurts  of  irrepressible  merriment,  as  if  the  joke  were 
much  too  good  to  be  quickly  let  go  and  forgotten.  I 
crossed  it  many  times  in  my  progress  down  the  glen,  at- 
tracted by  a  gay  breast-knot  of  flowers  on  the  hill's  green 
robe,  a  tiny  fern-forest  on  the  brook's  border,  a  mossy,  leaf- 
strewn  ledge,  all  the  more  fascinating  because  well  nigh  in- 
accessible, or  a  wild  vine  flinging  an  ideal  grace  over  the 
gaunt,  gray  outline  of  some  rugged  rock,  yet  without  im- 
pairing any  really  valuable  quality, — as  a  sunny  and  loving 
spirit  may  do  over  the  hardest,  homeliest  duties  of  com- 
mon life.  By  and  by,  the  hill  began  to  slope  off  gradually, 
the  cliff  terminated  in  a  sharp  promontory  of  rock,  and  a 
sinuous  rail-fence  marked  the  extreme  limit  of  the  glen. 
Under  this  fence  the  brook  shrank  into  the  disihal  shadow 
of  a  dense  forest, — its  song  hushed,  its  gambols  all  over, — 
and  flowed  silently  through  a  dead  level  of  damp,  black 
mould,  scantily  coated  with  a  pale  and  fungous  vegetation, 
and  strewn  with  dead  leaves  and  dry  twigs,  seeming,  at 
first,  half-sulky,  and  altogether  scared,  by  the  sudden  and 
complete  change  of  its  manner  of  life.  Bona,  Mala  and  I 
leaned  on  the  fence,  and  looked  after  it. 

"  See  !  it  is  a  type  of  your  life,"  exclaimed  Mala,  less 
bitterly  than  her  wont.  "  Just  so,  that  went  singing 


SHELOH.  65 

through  flowers  and  sunshine,  unsuspicious  of  change ; 
just  so,  without  volition  or  responsibility  of  its  own,  it  was 
suddenly  thrust  out  into  an  atmosphere  of  impenetrable 
gloom,  and  set  to  flow  through  earth  dank  with  tears, 
fruitful  only  in  diseased  and  depressing  imaginations,  and 
strewn  with  the  dry,  rustling  debris  of  dead  hopes.  Ay  ! 
look  at  the  poor  little  .stream  and  weep, — you  have  cause  ! 
In  its  dumb,  shadowed,  monotonous  flow,  all  your  future 
life  is  mirrored." 

BOXA  (tenderly}.  Nay,  where  there  is  shadow,  there  is 
also  shelter;  the  roof  that  shuts  o\it  the  sun  may  shut  out 
the  storm  as  well.  And  notice  how  calm,  and  broad,  and 
sweet-browed  the  brook  becomes,  after  a  while ;  with  here 
and  there  a  speck  of  blue  sky  reflected  in  its. depths,  like  a 
thought  of  peace.  There  are  a  few  low,  sweet  flowers^ 
on  its  bn1:*,  too;  needing  its  refreshment,  and  growing 
brighter  and  more  fragrant  for  it.  And  beyond  the  wood, 
no  doubt,  it  flows  out  into  the  sunshine  again. 

I.  If  I  were  sure  of  that,  Bona,  the  thought  of  that 
future  sunshine  would  help  me  so  powerfully  through  the 
shadow  of  this  Present ! 

BOXA.  Have  you  forgotten  the  "  glory  that  shall  be  re- 
vealed ?  " 

MALA.  But  it  looks  so  far  off  when  it  is  only  the  heav- 
enly sunshine ! 

BOXA.  Only?  After  brief  weariness,  only  long  rest ! 
After  swiftly  vanishing  years  of  strife,  only  ever-flowing 
peace  !  After  short  pressure  of  sorrow,  only  eternal  weight 
of  joy  !  After  hard  faces  of  enemies  and  changeful  ones  of 
friends,  only  the  tender,  winning,  satisfying  face  of  Christ ! 
After  the  rough  usage  of  the  world,  only  the  Everlasting 
arms !  After  a  life-time  of  desire,  only  an  eternity  of  love  ! 
Can  any — dare  any,  sinful  mortal  ask  for  more  ? 

For  a  moment  I  looked  at  Mala ;  then  she  somehow 
disappeared.  There  is  this  peculiarity  about  these  strange 
companions  of  mine,  that  whenever  I  regard  Mala  steadily, 


66  SHILOH. 

trying  to  see  her  as  she  is,  she  always  dwindles,  grows 
vague,  and  vanishes ;  whereas,  the  longer  and  more  search- 
ingly  I  look  at  Bona,  the  brighter  and  better  defined  she 
becomes.  The  first  is  most  powerful  when  I  do  not  recog- 
nize her  for  herself, — when  she  pushes  me  from  behind,  or 
allures  me  from  before,  hidden  under  a  mask  of  self-respect, 
custom,  expediency,  necessity,  and  I  know  not  what  beside, 
"for  she  has  more  shapes  than  Proteus.  Bona's  efficiency, 
on  the  contrary,  is  greatest  when  I  seek  her  out,  entreat  her 
help,  and  consciously  put  my  hand  in  hers.  If  I  grow  care- 
less and  off  my  guard,  Mala  is  nearly  certain  to  be  at  my 
elbow,  ordering  my  goings ;  but  there  is  little  drifting,  or 
going  blindfold,  under  Bona's  guidance, — she  compels  me 
to  use  my  reason  and  my  will. 

I  now  turned  to  her,  and  exclaimed,  "  Oh !  Bona,  if  I 
could  always  look  at  Nature  thi'ough  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  Your  own  will  serve  you  as  well,"  she  answered,  gen- 
tly, "  if  you  have  the  right  spirit  in  your  heart.  Nature  is 
like  a  stream ;  it  has  different  aspects  for  different  beholders. 
One  sees  in  it  little  beside  the  reflection  of  his  own  face. 
Another,  looking  closer,  discerns  the  form  of  its  waves,  and 
the  grasses,  flowers,  and  other  minute  objects  that  float  on 
its  surface.  Still  another  discovers  fish  playing  in  its 
depths,  and  pebbles  and  roots  at  the  bottom.  A  fourth  is 
ravished  with  its  graceful  curves,  its  sparkle  and  play  of 
light,  its  soft  concords  of  color.  A  fifth  floats  into  dream- 
land on  its  liquid  music.  A  sixth,  feeling  somewhat  of  its 
sentiment  as  well  as  of  its  beauty,  finds  out  subtle  analogies 
to  human  life.  But  the  divinely  inspired  heart  of  a  seventh, 
while  it  loses  none  of  these  effects,  swells  with  rapturous 
thought  of  the  peace  that  '  shall  flow  as  a  river ; '  or,  like 
St.  John  in  Patmos,  looking  on  the  Nile,  beholds  in  a  vision 
the  River  of  Life,  '  clear  as  crystal,  proceeding  out  of  the 
throne  of  God  and  the  Lamb.'  In  nature,  to-day,  you  have 
found  a  bit  of  mythology,  some  analogies,  many  artistic 
effects,  and  a  type  of  your  own  life.  Suppose,  now,  you 
peek  for  the  Goodness  of  God  in  it." 


SHILOH.  67 

I  looked,  and- lo!  the  Transfigured  Landscape!  Every 
leaf,  every  flower,  every  gray  rock,  every  waving  line,  every 
bright  hue — the  brook's  song — the  forest's  shadow — were 
all  alive  and  aglow  with  that  Goodness.  By  it  the  sun- 
beams shone,  the  breezes  played,  the  birds  twittered,  the 
sky  hung  soft-eyed  over  the  smiling  earth.  David  saw  it 
when  he  exclaimed  "  Oh  !  how  great  is  Thy  goodness  which 
Thpu  hast  laid  up  for  them  that  fear  Thee  !  " — not  made  visi- 
ble to  every  careless  gaze,  intent  on  outward  things  alone, 
but  laid  up  ;  stored  richly  for  the  joy  and  consolation  of  the 
searching  eye  and  the  prayerful  heart.  I  stood,  trembling 
and  tearful,  overwhelmed  with  the  sudden,  dazzling  revela- 
tion. 

"  Just  so,"  said  Bona,  softly, — "just  so,  though  in  a 
deeper  and  fuller  degree,  will  the  awakened  soul,  one  day, 
stand  overjoyed  and  awe-struck  before  its  sudden  dis- 
covery of  God's  wonderful  goodness  in  the  circumstances 
of  its  earthly  life.  Where  it  saw  only  shadow,  it  shall 
discern  shelter;  where  it  felt  only  rigour  and  hindrance, 
it  shall  discover  the  Rock  of  Defence ;  and  sorrow,  casting 
off  her  mask  and  her  mufflings,  shall  stand  forth  as  the 
fulness  and  the  graciousness  of  Redeeming  Love ! " 

A  deep  sigh  here  broke  upon  my  ear.  Leo,  faithful  to 
his  notions  of  duty,  would  not  leave  me ;  but  it  was  plain 
he  thought  I  took  a  tiresome  time  for  meditation.  He  had 
dropped  despondently  on  the  grass,  near  by,  and  was  look- 
ing at  me  with  uplifted  head  and  wistful  eyes. 

"  Thou  art  right !  "  said  I,  gravely  apostrophizing  him. 
"  No  need,  either  in  thought  or  act,  to  go  fai'ther  and  fare 
worse  !  It  is  the  bane  of  moralists  and  philosophers  that 
they  never  know  where  to  stop.  We  are  wiser,  Leo, — we 
will  go  home  !  " 

No  question  but  that  he  understood !  At  the  first 
words,  he  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  looked  at  me  earnestly, 
inclining  his  head  to  one  side.  At  the  last,  he  sprang  up, 
wagging  his  tail,  gave  a  bark  of  joyous  acquiescence,  and 
bounded  forward. 


68  SHILOH. 

He  guided  me  home  by  a  shorter  route.  It  led  through 
a  shady,  turfy  lane,  traversed  by  deep  cart  ruts,  and  a  sun- 
ny bit  of  road,  bordered  by  that  queer  tangle  of  creeping, 
climbing,  prickly,  vagabond  vegetation,  which  always  ac- 
cumulates by  roadside  stone-walls,  in  the  country ;  sowing 
its  own  seed,  and  reaping*  its  own  harvest, — with  some  little 
help,  in  the  latter  task,  from  stray  cattle  and  loitering 
school-children.  I  soon  came  upon  the"  Divines'  wood-pile, 
— a  domestic  institution  which,  in  Shiloh,  has  the  habit  of 
establishing  itself  by  the  roadside,  in  convenient  proximity 
to  the  house  gate,  by  way  of  saving  the  enclosed  land,  and 
allowing  the  wood-chopper  to  keep  au  courant  des  public 
affairs.  There  I  found  Mrs.'  Divine's  silver-haired  bachelor 
brother,  who  is  so  universally  addressd  and  spoken  of  as 
"  Uncle  True,"  that  it  seems  like  unnecessary  particularity 
to  mention  that  he  has  a  claim,  by  baptism  and  birthright, 
to  be  called  Truman  Hart.  He  was  sitting  in  an  ancient- 
looking  arm-chair,  chopping  wood  ;  with  a  barrier  of  logs 
before  him,  and  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  chips  all  around. 
A  huge  mass  of  rock  jutted  up  near  him,  in  the  top  of 
which  was  a  deep  depression,  or  cavity,  half  full  of  water. 
I  looked  at  it  curiously,  and  inquired  if  it  was  an  artificial 
or  natural  basin  ? 

"  I  guess  it's  nateral,"  replied  Uncle  True,  laying  down 
his  axe,  and  wiping  his  brow.  "  It's  been  there  ever  since 
I  was  born ;  an'.  I've  heerd  tell  that  the  first  Hart  settled 
on  this  place  on  account  on't ; — he  saw  a  fairy  pictur, — or 
suthin'  or  other, — at  the  bottom,  when  he  first  looked  into't, 
that  took  his  fancy.  Sartain,  it  couldn't  'ave  ben  his  own 
face,  for  the  Hart  breed  never  was  a  harnsome  un !  An' 
people  du  say,  when  that  holler  gits  dry  (which  it  never 
does  except  in  seasons  of  uncommon  drouth),  that  the 
Haits  can  look  out  for  bad  luck.  An'  though  I  don't 
b'lieve  much  in  them  sort  o'  sayins,  there  does  seem  to  be  a 
leetle  mite  o'  truth  in  that  un.  Leastways,  I've  often  no- 
ticed that  things  are  apt  to  come  cross-grained  when  that 


SHILOH.  CO 

holler's  dry.  To  be  sure,  they  do  other  times,  too  ;  so  I 
ain't  quite  clear  Avhether  there's  anything  in't,  or  not.  It's 
pooty  much  like  an  ox-yoke,  I  guess ;  what'll  fit  into  one 
bow  '11  fit  abeout  as  well  into  t'other." 

Amused  by  the  quaint  speech  and  homely  simile,  I  sat 
down  on  the  rock,  the  more  comfortably  to  pursue  the  con- 
versation. 

"  The  place  seems  to  be  amply  supplied  with  water, 
without  the  help  of  the  hollow,"  I  remarked,  prompted  by 
the  sight  of  the  aforementioned  well  sweeps,  rising  into 
view,  one  on  either  side  of  the  house,  and  looking  much, 
like  an  enormous  pair  of  fishing-poles.  "  May  I  ask  how  it 
happens  that  you  have  two  wells,  in  such  near  proximity  ?  " 

"  Ask  all  the  questions  you  like,"  returned  Uncle  True, 
benignly ;  "  they're  the  short  road  to  larnin',  and  save  makin' 
mistakes.  As  for  the  wells,  the  one  behind  the  house  was 
dug  first,  and  the  water  turned  out  to  be  so  hard  and 
brackish  that  they  concluded  they'd  try  'tother  side.  An' 
that's  the  best  water  in  Shiloh — cool  as  if  it  had  jest  come 
out  of  an  iceberg,  an'  soft  an'  sweet  as  if  it  had  been  stirred 
up  with  a  rosebud  jest  afore  it  started." 

"  That  seems  strange,"  observed  I,  "  inasmuch  as  there 
is  only  the  length  of  the  house  between  them." 

"  Sweet  an'  bitter  waters  are  nigher  together  than  that, 
sometimes,"  said  Uncle  True,  sententiously.  "  I've  known 
'em  both  to  come  out  o'  the  same  spot." 

It  was  plain  that  his  mind  had  wandered  from  wells  in 
fact  to  wells  in  metaphor. 

"  Besides,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  though,  as  you 
say,  there's  nothin'  but  the  old  house  'twixt  'em,  yet  that 
may  stand  for  this  world  an'  all  its  consarns.  An'  jest  as 
the  old  house  ain't  much  compared  with  this  whole  hillside 
an'  valley,  as  fur  as  you  can  see,  so  life  isn't  much,  nuther, 
when  you  look  at  the  eternity  afore  it  an'  the  eternity  arter 
it.  But  there's  jest  that,  an  'nothin'  else,  'twixt  the  bit- 
ter waters  of  earth  that  we  all  begin  to  drink  as  soon  as 


70  SHILOH. 

born,  an'  the  river  o'  life  in  heaven.  "Wall,  then,  there's 
another  way  o'  taldn'  it.  The  brackish  well,  you  see,  is  on 
the  kitchen  side  o'  the  house,  where  all  the  work  an'  worry 
goes  on ;  an'  I  suspect  that  people  who  dig  all  their  wells 
amongst  the  toils  an'  cares,  an'  hurry  an'  skurry,  o'  this 
world,  thinkin'  o'  nothiii'  but  how  to  make  money  or  save 
it,  needn't  wonder  if  they  don't  git  much  out  on  'em  but 
bitterness.  Whereas,  them  who  dig  towards  the  garden^ 
that  is,  as  I  take  it,  towards  Christ  an'  His  Church  ( '  A 
garden  enclosed  is  my  sister,  my  spouse,'  says  Solomon  V 
song), — them  who  dig  thar,  will  find  livin'  waters,  sweet  to 
the  tongue,  an'  satisfyin'  to  the  soul.  You  see,  Miss  Frost, 
them  wells  are  among  my  preachers.  But,  bless  me  !  we 
mustn't  be  preachiu',  nor  listenin'  to  preachin',  all  the 
while ! " 

And  Uncle  True  caught  up  his  axe  and  laid  aboxit  him 
energetically,  to  make  up  for  lost  time.  I  watched  the 
slow,  stiff"  swing  of  the  axe,  indicating  somewhat  of  rusti- 
ness  and  infirmity  in  the  joints  and  muscles  that  wielded  it ; 
then,  my  attention  became  fastened  on  the  chair  wherein 
the  old  man  sat. 

"  Your  chair  has  a  most  suggestive  look,"  I  said,  at 
length  ;  "  it  seems  unctuous  with  long  absorption  of  life's  fa- 
miliar knowledge  and  homely  interests.  Has  it  a  history  ?  " 

"  It's  history  and  mine's  pooty  much  the  same,"  replied 
he,  laying  his  hand  on  its  arm  with  a  certain  fondness. 
"  Me  and  my  old  chair's  kept  company  for  nigh  onto  fifty 
year,  and  I  guess  nothin'  but  Death  will  part  iis  now.  In- 
deed, I've  some  thoughts  of  askin'  to  be  buried  sittin'  in 
it ; — I've  read  somewhere  that  old  Ben  Johnson  (he's  a 
poet  that  used  to  be  read,  when  I  was  young,  more'n  he  is 
now),  was  buried  standin'  straight  up  in — in — wall,  you 
know  where  I  mean, — in  that  fine  church  in  England  where 
they  bury  their  great  folks." 

"  Yes ;  in  "Westminster  Abbey,"  said  I.  "  But  it  is 
painful  to  think  of  a  man  on  his  feet  so  long ;  and,  though 


SHILOII.  71 

sitting  may  be  an  easier  posture,  I  advise  you  not  to  make 
the  request.  The  thought  of  your  sitting  upright  till  the 
end  of  time,  could  scarcely  be  otherwise  than  wearisome  to 
your  friends.  Moreover,  it  seems  fitting  that  a  man  should 
lie  down  in  his  grave  as  he  does  in  his  bed,  resigning  him- 
self into  God's  hands,  and  trusting  to  Him  to  take  care  of 
his  awakening." 

"  So  it  does,"  said  Uncle  True,  heartily ;  "  I  declare,  I 
never  thought  o'  that !  Wall,  anyhow,  me  an'  my  old 
chair  '11  jog  on  together,  as  fur  as  the  grave.  To  be  sure, 
it's  a  good  deal  rusty  an'  creaky  (like  myself),  an'  its  ben 
mended  tAvo  or  three  times  (which  I  hain't,  as  I  know  on), 
but  I  guess  it'll  last  my  time.  I  hope  so ;  I  shouldn't  like 
to  try  a  new  un, — this  has  been  legs  an'  seat,  an'  carriage 
an'  travel,  an'  tavern-  for  me,  so  long !  " 

"  Why  !  do  you  never  go  without  it  ?  "  I  asked,  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  No  more'n  a  snail  goes  without  his  shell.  You  see, 
marm,  when  I  was  a  young  feller,  about  sixteen  year  old, 
I  was  flung  out  of  a  wagon,  an'  lamed  for  life.  Wall,  first 
I -tried  crutches;  but  I  couldn't  sit  on  'em  when  I  got 
tired,  an'  that  wras  pooty  often.  Then,  I  took  to  shovin' 
this  old  chair  about  ('twas  a  new  un,  then !),  an'  that 
suited  'xactly.  I  could  go  as  fur  as  I  liked,  an'  sit  down 
jest  where  an'  when  I  liked.  Besides,  it's  got  a  drawer 
here,  under  the  seat,  you  see,  where  I  keep  the  things  I 
want  to  use  commonly."  And  Uncle  True  opened  it,  and 
displayed  its  contents.  "  Here's  hammer  an'  nails,  an'  gim- 
let and  screws; — them's  for  tinkerin'  round  the  place: 
wherever  I  see  a  board  off,  or  a  hinge  loose,  or  anything 
out  o'  kilter,  I  fix  it.  Here's  an  awl  an'  waxed  ends,  so 
that  I  can  mend  old  harness,  an'  boots  an'  shoes.  Here's  a 
needle  an'  thread  ;  its  easier  to  sew  on  my  buttons  or  mend 
a  tear,  sometimes,  than  'tis  to  travel  deal-  into  the  house,  to 
get  it  done.  Here's  a  trowel  to  dig  up  Aveeds  with  ; — by 
the  way,  I  make  out  to  do  most  o'  the  garden  Avork. 


V2  SIIILOH. 

Here's  some  old  linen,  an'  salve,  for  doin'  up  cuts  and 
bruises  ;  I  git  a  chance  to  use  them,  on  myself  or  some- 
body else,  abeout  every  week.  An'  here's  the  last  news- 
paper, to  read  in  the  shade  when  I  get  tired  o'  choppin'. 
An'  now," — shutting  up  the  drawer, — "  I'm  agoin'  to  cut 
up  that  log,  over  yonder,  an'  you  can  see  how  I  manage." 

So  saying,  Uncle  True  stuck  his  axe  through  some 
leather  straps  at  the  side  of  his  chair,  raised  himself  slowly, 
by  a  firm  grasp  of  its  arms,  and  turned  about,  shifting 
hands,  as  he  did  so,  from  one  side  to  the  other.  Then  he 
lifted  it  by  the  arms,  set  it  forward  a  step,  dragged  one 
foot  after  the  other  slowly  up  to  it,  set  it  forward  again, 
and  so  proceeded  until  he  reached  the  point  indicated  ; 
when  he  twisted  himself  into  it,  resumed  his  axe,  and  set 
to  work. 

I  looked  on  with  interest ;  and  something  like  pity  must 
have  shown  itself  in  my  face,  also,  for  the  old  man,  after 
looking  at  me  keenly,  once  or  twice,  said  quietly,  "It's  a 
dull  sort  of  a  life  to  lead,  may  be  you  think;  but  it  isn't 
quite  a  useless  one,  you  see.  And  I've  grown  so  wonted 
to  it,  that  I  guess  I  shouldn't  care  to  have  it  any  different, 
now,  if  I  could." 

I  recalled  Mr.  Warren's  emphatic  assertion,  "  Life  is 
sweet  to  them  all,"  and  felt  its  truth.  Yet,  what  a  dissim- 
ilarity in  the  two  men !  Uncle  True's  placid,  sensible  face, 
was  full  of  the  glow  of  a  kindly  and  contented  spirit,  shin- 
ing through  the  dusk  and  rigor  of  its  ch-cumstances  like 
sunbeams  struggling  through  a  dusty,  discolored  window- 
pane.  The  little  light  in  Mr.  Warren's  face  resembled 
rather  the  chill  reflection  of  sunbeams  from  ice  ;  which 
freezes  all  the  harder  to-day  because  it  thawed  a  little  yes- 
day. 

Entering  the  front  gate,  I  discovered  Mrs.  Prescott,  sit- 
-ting  in  a  low,  lilac^shaded  doorway,  opening  directly  into 
the  parlor,  or,  as  Mrs.  Divine  oddly  enough  calls  it,  the 
"  out-room. "  It  is  a  large,  low-studded  room,  covered 


SHILOH.  73 

with  a  carpet  of  domestic  manufacture,  and  filled  with  an 
odd  mixture  of  antique  and  modern  furniture ;  the  stiff 
and  angular  arrangement  of  which,  shutting  out  every  ge- 
nial and  hospitable  grace,  as  well  as  the  exquisite  neatness 
in  which  it  is  kept,  being,  evidently,  a  work  after  Mrs. 
Prescott's  own  heart.  Surmising  that  this  stronghold  of 
the  family  dignity  had  been  opened  in  my  honor,  and  con- 
scious, withal,  that  I  owed  the  lady  some  civility,  in  atone- 
ment 'for  my  rude  speech  of  the  moraiing,  I  went  to  her  at 
once. 

"  Mrs.  Prescott,  is  there  any  rector  to  the  little  church 
on  the  hill  yonder?" 

She  looked  up  with  the  first  gleam  of  real  interest  that 
I  had  seen  on  her  chronically  dissatisfied  face. 

"  No,  there  ain't  any  now,"  answered  she,  "  but  I  hope 
there  will  be  before  .long.  There's  a  minister  coming  to 
preach  here  next  Sunday,  and  if  he  gets  encouragement 
enough,  he'll  stay." 

"  Then  the  parish  has  not  given  him  a  call !  "  said  I, 
with  a  little  natural  surprise  at  this  way  of  doing  things. 

"  A  call !  Land's  sakes,  no, — I  wish  they  had  !  But 
there  ain't  life  enough  in  them  for  that.  He'll  get  no  call, 
unless  it's  from  the  Ladies'  Sewing  Society ;  or,  I  might  as 
well  say,  right  out,  from  me  and  Esther  Volger,  for  we  have 
to  drive  'em  up  to  do  all  that  is  done.  We  went  to  the 
Bishop,  and  got  him  to  promise  us  that  he  would  send  this 
man  here ;  and  we  obligated  ourselves  to  see  that  he  got 
enough  to  support  him,  somehow.  Of  course,  when  the 
men  find  out  that  a  minister's  really  coming,  they'll  get 
together  and  auctioneer  off  the  pews  ;  and  then  the  ladies, 
by  dint  of  sewing  societies,  and  tea-parties,  and  fairs,  must 
make  up  the  rest." 

"  Has  the  parish  always  been  so  feeble,  or  so  torpid  ?  " 
I  inquired. 

•  "  Obi !  dear,  no ;  once  it  was  strong  enough.      You  see, 
it  was  a  split-off  from  the  old  church  (that's  up  street,  five 
4 


74:  SHLLOH. 

miles  away) ;  and  it  took  some  of  the  best  and  most  .influ- 
ential men  of  that  parish, — father  among  the  Test.  But 
most  of  them  died  years  ago,  and  their  sons  didn't  fill 
their  places  (seems  to  me  none  of  them  do,  now-a-days !)  ; 
or  their  property  was  divided  and  sold,  and  the  new 
owners  didn't  care  for  the  church.  Then  father  met  with 
heavy  losses,  and  had  to  sell  out  his  old,  fine  place  upon 
the  Hill  (this  is  mother's  property)  ; — and  so  the  parish 
began  to  run  down,  and  it's  kept  going  down  hill  ever 
since,  till  there  isn't  a  man  left  in  it  worth  his  salt.  To 
be  sure  father  '11  do  all  he  can,  but  he's  got  to  be  old, 
you  see,  and  has  pretty  much  done  with  active  life,  in  the 
world  and  in  the  Church.  And  if  it  wasn't  for  the  women, 
the  parish  would  be  dead  as  a  door-nail,  in  no  time !  " 

Which  it  never  would  be,  I  thought,  as  long  as  Mrs. 
Prescott  remained  to  galvanize  it  into  any  spasmodic,  inter- 
mittent life,  with  her  energy  and  acidity.  And  I  found, 
thereafter,  that  she  was  truly  the  mainspring  of  the  parish, 
without  which  it  must  have  gone  to  irremediable  ruin. 
Not  that  she  was  a  popular  or  discreet  leader,  for  her  sharp 
philippics  and  stinging  comments,  while  they  penetrated 
some  obtuse  consciences,  and  stirred  their  owners  up  to 
sluggish  good  works,  mortally  offended  others,  and  drove 
them  into  greater  apathy  or  dogged  opposition.  Neverthe- 
less, she  fought  on,  exhibiting  genuine  courage,  persever- 
ance, and  self-sacrifice,  and  achieving  something  for  Christ 
and  His  Church,  which  is  put  down  to  her  credit,  doubtless, 
against  the  day  when  the  books  are  opened. 

"And  the  clergyman  that  is  coming  next  Sunday,  who 
is  he  ?  "  inquired  I. 

"  Oh !  he's  a  Mr.  Taylor, — just  ordained,  I  believe, 
though  he's  not  a  young  man ;  he  has  a  wife  and  family. 
He  seems  like  a  downright,  earnest,  zealous,  wide-awake  sort 
of  a  man,  and  I  hope  he'll  shake  up  this  valley  of  dry  bones 
a  little.  By  the  way,  Miss  Frost,  won't  you  join  our  Sew- 
ing Society  ?  We  need  all  the  help  we  can  get." 


SHILOH.  75 

MALA.  Sewing  Society  !  Nursery  of  gossip,  and  hot- 
bed of  malice  and  all  uncharitableness !  In  the  name  of 
Common  Sense,  tell  her  you  must  respectfully  decline. 

BOXA.  You  need  not  gossip,  nor  bear  malice,  nor  deal 
uncharitably.  Take  care  that  your  own  motives  are  right, 
and  do  not  judge  your  neighbors.  If  no  good  work  is  to 
be  commenced,  or  carried  on,  until  the  workers  and  the 
system  are  cleansed  from  all  evil,  where,  on  this  earth, 
are  you  to  find  a  place  to  begin  ? 

MALA.  To  be  sure,  it  might  afford  you  amusement  to  go. 
It  must  be  a  rare  place  to  study  character. 

BOXA.  Nay,  if  you  are  going  for  that  object  mainly,  you 
had  better  decline. 

I  (peevishly).  Was  ever  poor  mortal  bothered  with  such 
a  pair  of  contradictory  advisers  !  You  change  your  places 
so  quickly  that  I  do  not  know  one  from  the  other,  nor 
which  to  follow.  (Then,  aloud,  to  Mrs.  Prescotf).  I  cannot 
promise  to  join,  until  I  am  more  certain  that  I  can  do  good 
by  becoming  a  member.  But  I  will  go  once,  if  you  wish, 
-and  see  what  it  is  like. 

"  "Well,  it  meets  to-morrow,"  she  answered.  "  It  don't 
generally  meet  on  Saturday,  but  it  will  this  week,  on  ac- 
count of  Mr.  Taylor's  coming.  We  must  get  together, 
and  find  out  what  sort  of  a  support  we  can  promise  him. 
And  I  shall  certainly  call  you,  to  go  along." 

That  evening,  Leo  once  more  accompanied  me  to  the 
dwelling  of  the  Warrens,  and  waited  patiently  at  the  gate 
while  I  made  a  brief  visit  within.  The  white,  waxen  maid- 
en still  slept  her  untroubled  sleep,  in  the  room  where  Death 
had  given  her  the  kiss  of  peace  ;  the  father  sat  apart,  silent, 
morose,  wrapped  in  grief  and  in  gloom ;  the  mother  received 
me  with  sad,  gentle  composure.  She  told  me  that  the  funeral 
was  fixed  for  the  coming  Sunday,  at  the  usual  hour  of  after- 
noon service ; — an  appointment  that  seemed  strange  to  me, 
though  I  heard  it  without  comment, — seeing,  from  her 


76  SHILOH. 

manner,  that  it  must  be  in  accordance  with  the  Shiloh 
practice. 

Then,  through  moonlight  and  shadow — shadows  our- 
selves ! — Leo  and  I  went  silently  home. 

And  the  morning  and  the  evening  were  the  second 
day! 


VTII. 

THE   SEWING   SOCIETY. 

NBOUT  one  o'clock  on  the  following  day, 
Mrs.  Prescott  sent  a  shrill  call  up  the  stair- 
case to  know  if  I  was  "  ready  to  go  to  So- 
ciety ?  "  I  had  not  expected  so  early  a  sum- 
mons, but  I  made  quick  work  with  my  toilet, 
and  soon  joined  her  and  Alice  at  the  gate. 
The  walk  was  a  pleasant  one ;  over  a  wind- 
ing, hilly,  alternately  shady  and  sunny  road, 
bordered  by  a  pleasant  succession  of  fields  and  mead- 
ows and  woodland,  with  here  and  there  a  comfortable 
farm-house,  standing  sufficiently  aloof  to  preserve  its  own 
individual  life  intact,  yet  affording  its  neighbors  glimpses 
of  a  blue  column  of  smoke,  by  day,  and  a  red  window- 
gleam  by  night,  as  an  assurance  of  available  help  and  com- 
panionship, at  need. 

Mrs.  Prescott  enlivened  the  way  with  some  account  of 
the  people  I  was  about  to  meet. 

"  There's  my  second  cousin,  Esther  Volger — Essie,  most 
folks  call  her,  but  I  don't  believe  in  turning  the^  good  old 
Bible  names  into  wishy-washy  nicknames — I'd  rather  have 
cream  than  skim-milk,  any  day.  Well,  Esther  is  a  person 
of  some  consequence  in  Shiloh ;  she  is  the  only  daughter 
of  the  richest  man  in  the  place,  and  she  has  been  away  to  a 
city  boarding-school  for  two  or  three  years,  and  learned  te 
play  the  piano,  and  got  varnished  up  generally ; — though  if 
hasn't  spoilt  her  a  bit — I'll  say  that  for  her.  On  the  con- 
trary, she's  got  some  good,  besides  the  varnishing ;  for  she 


78  SHILOH. 

went  to  a  Church  school,  and  learned  more  about  Church 
ways,  and  got  more  interested  in  Church  work,  than  she 
would  ever  have  done  if  she  had  stayed  at  home ;  for  her 
father  don't  care  any  more  about  any  Church  than  he  does 
about  the  man  in  the  moon.  But  he  gives  Esther  pretty 
liberally  of  pocket-money,  and  as  she's  young  and  spry, 
and  hasn't  much  to  do, — except  to  mitten  young  fellows  who 
hang  round  her  because  she's  an  heiress, — I  manage  to  get 
more  money  and  more  work  out  of  her  than  anybody  else. 
Then,  there's  Mrs.  Seber  (it's  at  her  house  that  the  Society 
meets  to-day)  ;  she's  a  woman  who  had  a  good  deal  rather 
there  wouldn't  be  any  minister  here  in  Shiloh,  because  she 
thinks  it's  smarter  to  go  up  town  to  church.  Still,  she  has- 
n't got  the  face  to  turn  her  back  on  us,  when  we  do  have 
service ;  but  she  means  to  be  top  of  the  heap,  to  pay  her  for 
her  condescension.  She  always  expects  to  be  made  presi- 
dent of  Society,  though  she  hasn't  any  idea  of  doing  a  pres- 
ident's work.  But  there's  one  comfort  about  that, — when 
she's  president,  I  can  have  my  way  pretty  much ;  all  she 
wants  is  the  honor ;  she  is  glad  enough  to  get  rid  of  the 
labor.  But  Mrs.  Burcham  is  a  bird  of  a  different  feather. 
Whether  she's  in  office,  or  out,  she  makes  it  her  business  to 
fight  what  anybody  else  proposes.  If  a  measure  is  tried  to- 
day, she'll  fight  it  tooth  and  nail ;  if  you  try  the  very  oppo- 
site to-morrow,  she  is  just  as  ready  to  fight  that.  I  always 
know  where  to  find  her, — on  the  contrary  side !  Then, 
there's  Mrs.  Shemnar ;  she  happened  to  be  made  without 
any  mind  of  her  own,  so  she  helps  herself  to  the  one  that 
is  handiest,  whenever  there's  a  vote  to  be  taken.  If  I  could 
be  at  her  elbow  all  the  time,  she  would  do  just  as  I  said ; 
if  Mrs.  Burcham  happens  to  be  nearest,  she'll  follow  her 
lead  just  as  quick.  But  I  believe  I'm  more  troubled,  just 
now,  about  Mrs.  Danforth  than  anybody  else."  And  Mrs. 
Prescott  stopped  to  take  breath. 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Danforth  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Mrs.  Danforth  is  a  New  Yorker,  like  yourself.     She 


SHILOH.  79 

has  taken  a  house  down  on  Hope  Plain,  for  the  summer,  on 
account  of  two  pale,  peaking,  spindling  children  she's  got, 
that  the  doctor  told  her  must  be  brought  away  from  the 
city,  or  they  would  die.  I  called  on  her  the  other  day — be- 
fore she  had  got  fairly  settled, — I  was  so  anxious  to  see  if 
the  Church  was  like  to  get  any  good  out  of  her.  And — 
well,  she's  a  curious  one,  Miss  Frost.  Not  much  after  your 
sort,  though  I  used  to  think  all  city  folks  must  be  pretty 
much  alike." 

"  What  sort  is  hers,  then  ?  " 

"  That's  just  what  I  can't  say ;  she  puzzles  me  more  than 
common.  When  I  called,  she  came  sweeping  into  the  room, 
with  a  silk  dress  and  a  long  train,  and  the  grandest  kind 
of  an  air, — so  I  expected  to  be  snufied  out  like  a  candle 
in  no  time ;  but,  instead  of  that,  she  sat  right  down  and 
talked  to  me  in  the  easiest  and  chattiest  kind  of  a  way, 
and  told  me  all  about  her  children,  and  her  family, — away 
back  to  the  Mayflower  times, — and  what  she  had  done, 
and  what  she  had  meant  to  do,  and  what  grand  people 
she  knew,  and  I  don't  know  what  all, — my  head  fairly 
swam  before  I  got  away  from  her.  As  she  talked,  she 
made  gestures  in  the  most  wonderful  way — I  never  saw 
anything  like  it  in  my  life  ! — and  then  her  hands  were 
loaded  with  diamond  rings ;  she  had  two  or  three  on  a 
finger,— and  how  they  did  twinkle  and  glitter"!  But  yet, 
somehow,  her  diamonds  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  her, — I 
couldn't  think  of  her  Y  ithout  them,  now, — and  I  should 
think  she  would  have  to  sleep  in  them,  for  fear  she  would- 
n't know  herself  when  she  wakes  up.  Well,  she  treated  me 
handsomely  enough,  plain  as  I  am ;  but  I  concluded,  after 
I  had  watched  her  awhile,  that  she  thought  she  was  made 
of  a  very  superior  sort  of  clay,  indeed ;  and  when  she  was 
finished,  there  wasn't  any  left ;  and  so  the  little  differences 
in  other  people's  earth  weren't  worth  her  minding.  But  I 
thought,  Miss  Frost,  that  in  spite  of  her  diamonds,  and  her 
grand  air,  and  her  good  blood,  she  wasn't  quite  a  lady." 


80  SHILCII. 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  "  what  was  lacking  ?  " 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  she  didn't  look  tidy, — to  be 
sure,  she  was  in  the  midst  of  setting  to  rights.  Then,  she 
did  boast ;  though  she  covered  it  up  as  nicely  as  ever  you 
saw  it  done.  And  once  she  said,  '  By  George.'  " 

I  had  had  some  little  idea  of  making  common  cause 
with  my  unknown  city  sister,  and  defending  her  against 
Mfs.  Prescott's  charge ;  but  the  "  By  George "  shut  my 
mouth.  I  think  a  lady  cannot  be  too  careful  in  her  expres- 
sions ;  too  steady  in  her  resistance  to  that  mighty  army  of 
slang  words  and  phrases  which  is  invading  our  literature, 
our  parlors,  lyceums,  courts, — even  our  pulpits. 

Mrs.  Prescott  continued.  "Anyhow,  she's  a  Church- 
woman,  and  used  to  Church  work :  she  said  she  had  been 
President  of  '  The  Friend  in  Need,'  arid  Vicc-President  of 
'  The  Wayside  Sower,'  and  First  Directress  of  something 
else ;  to  hear  her  tell  the  story,  you'd  say  there  wasn't  any- 
thing she  hadn't  been,  and  done.  But  one  thing  I  saw 
plain  enough, — she  isn't  going  to  work  after  anybody's  or- 
dering but  her  own.  She'll  work  like  a  horse,  I  should 
say,  if  you'll  give  her  the  lead ;  but  she  hasn't  much  gift 
for  following  on.  I  suspect  the  best  thing  we  can  do,  con- 
sidering all  things,  is  to  make  her  president  of  our  Society 
right  off.  But  then  there'll  be  trouble  with  Mrs.  Seber.  I 
laid  awake' all  night  thinking  about  it."  • 

And  Mrs.  Prescott  went  on  thinking  about  it,  to  such 
an  absorbing  extent  that  she  said  no  more  till  we  reached 
Mrs.  Seber's  gate, — not  the  front  one,  which  seemed  not  to 
have  been  opened  since  the  house  was  built, — but  a  side 
gate,  which,  being  fettered  by  a  chain,  with  a  heavy  weight 
of  old  iron  attached,  did  not  admit  us  with  very  gratify- 
ing alacrity. 

It  is  the  Shiloh  habit  to  enter  your  neighbor's  dwell- 
ing by  its  heart, — namely,  the  kitchen, — a  practice  which 
must  have  originated  in  the  kindest  consideration  for  visit' 
ors ; — since  to  be  first  introduced  into  such  stiff,  sour,  se^ 


SHILOH.  81 

vere  looking  parlors  as  are  the  rule  here,  would  inevitably 
freeze  the  friendliest  heart,  and  depress  the  most  vivacious 
temperament.  Whereas,  the  kitchen,  in  its  afternoon  pre- 
sentment, is  usually  an  airy,  tidy,  and  genial  apartment ; 
full  of  homely,  but  cheerful,  tokens  of  domestic  thrift  and 
comfort ;  and  rich  as  a  human  heart  in  long  experience  of 
life's  familiar  cares,  labors,  and  interests.  Through  Mrs. 
Seber's  kitchen,  therefore,  Mrs.  Prescott  led  the  way  to  a 
small  bedroom  at  its  farther  end ;  where  a  puffy  feather-bed 
was  strewn  with  an  assemblage  of  bonnets  and  wrappings 
that  would  have  served  for  an  illustration  of  defunct  fash- 
ions. Among  them  a  jaunty  hat,  with  a  scarlet  feather 
(a  very  tulip  among  sage  plants)  caught  my  companion's 
eye,  and  pointing  to  it,  she  said,  briefly,  "  Esther  Volger." 
Thence,  she  conducted  me  to  the  "keeping  room,"  already 
tolerably  well  filled  with  sober  matrons  and  comely  maid- 
ens ;  all  sitting  stiffly  upright,  with  that  uncomfortable  air 
of  being  arrayed  in  company  attire  and  manners,  which  is 
apt  to  make  the  first  half-hour  of  a  rural  gathering  a  thing 
to  be  dreaded.  From  an  open  door  into  the  parlor  beyond, 
came  a  sound  q£  laughter  and  cheery  voices,  that  indicated 
the  presence  of  a  more  enlivening  spirit.  Mrs.  Prescott 
made  a  brief  pause  on  the  threshold,  nodded  toward  me, 
and  said,  "  Miss  Frost,  ladies." 

A  stout,  rosy-faced  dame  arose  and  bestirred  herself  to 
find  me  a  chair,  by  which  I  identified  her  as  the  mistress  of 
the  mansion.  Having  put  me  in  it,  she  hesitated,  as  if 
conscious  that  something  further  ought  to  be  done,  or  said, 
in  rny  behalf,  but  not  quite  certain  what ;  and  was,  doubt- 
less, much  relieved  when  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  young 
lady  in  the  door,  close  to  which  she  had  placed  me,  saved 
her  from  the  necessity.  The  new-comer  paused,  with  a  little 
start,  in  her  swift  career,  at  sight  of  a  stranger  in  her  path ; 
then  she  held  out  her  hand  in  the  frankest,  simplest  way — 

"  Miss  Frost,  I  presume, — I  am  glad  to  meet  you.     How 
do  you  do  ?     I  am  Essie  Volger." 
4" 


82  SHILOH. 

I  did  not  need  the  explanation.  The  rich  farmer's 
daughter,  who  had  been  polished,  but  not  spoiled,  by  ed- 
ucational advantages,  was  easy  recognizable.  Miss  Essie's 
manner  had  not  lost  any  fresh,  natural  charm  by  being  sub- 
jected to  boai'ding-school  revision  ;  but  it  had  gained  some- 
thing, doubtless,  in  ease  and  courtesy.  There  was  an  air 
of  style,  about  her  dress,  too,  as  became  the  heiress,  yet 
nothing  showy  or  vulgar.  Without  being  beautiful, "  her 
face  was  extremely  pleasing;  the  eyes  were  dark  blue, 
and  met  mine  frankly,  the  nose  piquant,  the  complexion 
a  clear  shade  of  tan,  the  cheeks  blooming.  A  frank,  bright, 
brisk,  fun-loving  New  England  maiden  was  Miss  Essie, 
with  but  little  imagination,  but  much  good  sense  and  good 
humor ;  whose  sphere  was,  even  now,  more  in  the  Actual 
than  the  Ideal ;  and  who  would,  in  due  course  of  time, 
tone  down  into  the  most  domestic,  practical,  and  devoted 
of  wives. 

I  took  the  hand  with  real  pleasure.  "  Thank  you,  Miss 
Volger.  Introductions  are  such  stupid  things.  I  am  glad 
you  did  not  wait  for  one." 

"  So  they  are  ! "  she  answered.  "  They  t^ll  you  nothing 
that  you  want  to -know.  I  do  not  care  a  rush  whether  my 
vis-a-vis  at  a  dinner  party  is  called  Brown  or  Green,  so 
what  is  the  use  of  telling  me  ?  If  we  were  introduced 
something  in  this  wise, — '  Mr.  Brown,  who  has  been  trav- 
elling in  China  for  a  year,  and  is  about  to  open  a  tea-store 
in  Blankville  ;  and  Miss  Volger,  just  from  boarding-school, 
with  a  ridiculous  smattering  of  ologies,  and  a  solid  accum- 
ulation of  long  repressed  fun,' — we  should  know  where  we 
stand.  But  if  we  have  to  pick  up  these  items  by  chance, 
why  not  leave  us  to  slide  into  acquaintance  in  the  same 
way,  when  we  like ;  and  not  bring  us  face  to  face  to  dis- 
charge stiff  commonplaces  at  each  othef,  when  nothing 
else  is  possible  ?  Names  furnish  no  ground  of  meeting,  ex- 
cept for  people  who  have  genealogical  tastes.  But  I 
thought  I  heard  Cousin  Priscilla's  voice  in  here ;  did  she 
not  come  with  you  ?  " 


SHILOH.  83 

I  looked  arotmd ;  Mrs.  Prescott  had  disappeared. 

"  She  went  into  the  bedroom  with  Mrs.  Seber,"  said  a 
lady  near  us. 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  Miss  Essie,  with  a  queer,  dry  intona- 
tion. And  she  went  after  them. 

In  my  vicinity,  there  was  a  dead  silence.  In  other 
parts  of  the  room,  conversation  went  on  in  most  subdued 
tones.  •  Obviously,  these  good  people  were  very  much 
afraid  of  me.  By  way  of  offset,  I  was  getting  to  be 
afraid  of  them.  The  spectacle  of  a  roomful  of  strange, 
stiff  people,  awfully  afraid  of  doing  something  wrong,  and 
consequently  doing  nothing  but  send  surreptitious  glances 
around  them,  is  always  discomposing  to  me.  In  sheer  des- 
peration, I  turned  to  my  next  neighbor  and  said, — "  What 
a  very  lovely  view  we  have  from  this  window !  " 

"  Yes,  marm." 

I  tried  again.  "  That  is  a  pretty  little  lake  down  there ; 
has  it  a  name  ?  " 

"Marm!" 

"  Perhaps  she  means  the  pond,"  faintly  suggested  the 
next  in  the  row.  . 

"  Oh  !   I  don't  know,  marm,"  said  the  first. 

I  went  on,  scarcely  knowing  what  I  was  saying,  but  de- 
termined to  say  something.  "It  is  so  pretty  in  itself,  it 
deserves  a  pretty  name.  See  how  the  sunshine  glints 
across  it !  I  wonder  if  Longfellow  could  tell  us  the  Indian 
for  '  Sparkling  Water.' " 

Profound  and  awful  silence  for  some  moments.  Then  a 
stout,  cheerful  looking  dame  over  the  way  came  to  the  res- 
cue. "  We  call  it  Rustic's  Pond,  around  here — that's  the 
man's  name  who  owns  it.  He  lives  right  down  to  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  two  hundred  rod  or  so,  in  that  white  house  with 
a  piazzy  in  front,  and  green  blinds,  and  a  red  barn,  with  a 
vane,  with  a  horse  on  top, — you  must  have  took  notice  of 
it,  if  you've  ever  ben  that  way.  His  wife's  a  kind  of  cou- 
sin o'  mine — Marietty  Hine,  her  name  was  afore  she  was 


84  SHILOII. 

married,  mine  was  Lucindy  Hine: — we  come  from  the 
Hines  of  Winteford,  which  was  a  wonderful  spreadin'  fam- 
ily ; — my  grandfather  had  nineteen  children,  all  by  one 
wife,  and  most  on  'em  lived  to  marry  and  have  children  of 
their  own, — not  quite  so  many  as  he  had,  but  Peter  (that's 
the  oldest  un)  had  eleven  right  smart  children,  as  ever  you 
see,  and  one  fool,  who  wasn't  born  so  (I  shouldn't  want 
you  to  believe  that),  but  was  made  so  by  the  scarlet  fever, 
as  often  makes  children  fools,  or  lame,  or  somethin'  aruther ; 
it  made  one  of  my  sisters  deaf,  and  I've  heerd  tell — " 

There  seems  to  be  no  good  reason  why  this  stream  of 
recollections,  continually  fed  by  fresh  tributaries,  should 
not  have  flowed  on  till  now,  if  it  had  met  with  no  interrup- 
tion. Indeed,  I  had  a  fantastic,  oppressive  vision  of  the 
spell-bound  auditory  sitting  there  till  -doomsday,  and  the 
archangel's  trump  breaking  in  upon  some  ludicrously  petty 
detail  with  tragic,  untimely,  irreconcilable  awfulness ;  upon 
whose  terrible  and  grotesque  grouping,  my  imagination 
would  linger,  to  the  poignant  distress  of  my  conscience. 
It  was  a  relief,  therefore,  to  see  the  gaunt  form  of  Miss  La- 
vinia  Rust  at  the  door,  and  to  be  hailed  by  her  with  the 
cordiality  due  to  old  acquaintanceship, — albeit,  a  little  tem- 
pered by  that  grim  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Why,  bless  me  !  if  here  ain't  Miss  Frost !  I  didn't 
participate  seeing  you  here, — though  it's  strange  I  didn't, 
too,  you  have  such  a  dereliction  for  good  works.  Have 
you  seen  any  of  the  Warrens  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Rust,  I  went  down  this  morning  and  re- 
newed the  flowers  around  Maggie.  Mrs.  Warren  was  her 
usual  calm  self.  Sam  is  much  better." 

"  I'm  desperate  glad  to  hear  it.  But,  Miss  Frost,  did 
you  ever  see  a  woman  with  such  exposure  as  Mrs.  Warren 
has  got  ?  I  expected  yesterday  morning,  to  see  her  break 
down  all  at  once,  and  have  a  historical  turn,  but  she  kept 
around  like  a  marble  statute.  Such  women  ain't  as  num- 
berous  as  grass-seed,  I  can  tell  you.  Why,  only  yesterday 


SHILOH.  85 

afternoon  they  sent  for  me  into  one  of  the  neighbors, — her 
little  boy  had  cut  his  foot, — and  before  I  could  stop  the 
confusion  of  blood  she'd  gone  into  a  dead  faint,  and  I 
didn't  know  which  to  take  hold  of  first.  I  never  was  in 
such  a  digamma  before." 

»  » 

"  Aunt  Vin,"  here  interposed  the  loquacious  dame  oppo- 
site, "  have  'you  found  out  why  Tom  Sharp  and  his  wife 
have  separated  ?  " 

"  Yes'm,"  responded  Miss  Rust,  promptly,  "  on  account 
of  compatibility  of  temper." 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  know  but  'twas  something  worse,"  re- 
turned the  other,  in  perfect  good  faith. 

"  You'd  think  that  was  bad  enough,  I  guess,"  said 
Aunt  Vin,  "  if  you  had  any  idea  what  sort  of  man  Sharp 
is !  He  comes  of  a  distempered  family.  His  brother  was 
tried  for  murder  once,  and  only  let  off,  Lawyer  Pound  says, 
because  there  was  nothing  to  discriminate  him,  but  sub- 
stantial evidence.  But  there's  plenty  of  people  who  think 
he  ought  to  have  been  hung,  to  this  day." 

Mrs.  Prescott  now  entered.  Mrs.  Seber  and  Essie  Vol- 
ger  followed  her,  the  former  looking  annoyed,  the  latter 
with  a  quizzical  expression  and  dancing  eyes.  Essie  came 
directly  to  my  corner,  found  a  chair,  and  compelled  the 
whole  row  of  wall-  flowers  to  move  and  make  room  for  her, 
next  to  me.  Then  she  whispered,  confidentially, — "  Such  a 
time  as  we've  had  with  Mrs.  Seber !  I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Dan- 
forth  herself  has  less  taste  for  playing  second  fiddle.  But 
she  has  consented  to  do  it  once,  though  you  see  her  mouth 
has  a  twist  in  it ;  as  if,  after  making  up  her  mind  to  dine 
off  turkey  and  truffles,  she  had  been  forced  to  take  up  with 
boiled  pork  and  cabbage." 

I  looked  at  the  lady  in  question,  and  could  not  suppress 
a  smile  at  the  appositeness  of  the  simile.  Miss  Essie  con- 
tinued,— "  I  suppose  you  like  keeping  accounts, — I  am  glad 
somebody  has  that  useful  penchant.  I  would  rather  hoe 
corn  and  potatoes." 


86  SHILOH. 

I  looked  at  her  in  infinite  amazement  at  the  apparent 
irrelevancy  of  the  remark ;  seeing  which,  she  appeared 
nearly  as  much  surprised  as  myself. 

"  I  took  it  for  granted,"  she  said,  apologetically,  "  that 
you  were  in  all  Cousin  Priscilla's  secrets.  Well,  no  matter, 
she  will  open  her  budget  pretty  soon,  and  then  you  will  un- 
derstand. We  are  only  waiting  for — umphl — '  Speak  of 
an  angel  and  you  see  his  wings  ! ' — there  she  is  now — Mrs. 
Danforth." 

Looking  up,  I  beheld  a  new-comer  in  the  doorway, — a 
striking  figure  of  a  woman,  just  at  the  height  of  her  richest 
maturity,  and  fashioned  upon  a  most  spacious  and  luxuriant 
plan  of  physical  development.  The  haughty  air,  the  gra- 
cious manner,  the  sweeping  silken  robe  (no  longer  untidy), 
the  diamonds,  the  gestures — all  the  details  of  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott's  recent  sketch  were  there ;  and  I  mentally  compli- 
mented that  lady's  skill  in  portraiture,  while  she  received 
and  introduced  the  original.  In  two  minutes,  Mrs.  Dan- 
forth had  glided  easily  into  conversation  with  those  nearest 
her ;  in  four,  she  was  relating  some  incident  of  her  life  with 
a  varied  modulation,  an  illustrative  play  of  feature,  and  a 
rich  and  happy  exuberance  of  gesticulation,  that  would  have 
made  her  fortune  on  the  stage ;  in  six,  everybody  was 
listening  to  her,  half  in  wonder,  half  in  admiration.  As  her 
hands  moved,  her  diamonds  flashed  and  scintillated ;  and, 
after  a  moment  or  two,  as  Mrs.  Prescott  had  said,  it  became 
impossible  to  conceive  of  her  without  them ;  so  readily  did 
they  amalgamate  themselves  with  one's  idea  of  her  charac- 
ter ;  so  subtile  was  their  correspondence  with  some  luxuri- 
ant inward  growth  of  pride  and  pomp;  so  perfectly  did 
they  assimilate  their  richness  to  the  brilliancy  and  showi- 
ness  of  her  person  and  manner.  There  was  a  charm,  almost 
amounting  to  fascination,  about  her  conversation ;  and  yet 
something  strongly  repcllant,  at  least  to  me,  in  her  person- 
ality. Watching  her  closely,  I  was  nearly  as  much  puzzled 
where  to  place  her  as  Mrs.  Prescott  had  been.  That  lady's 


SHILOH.       t  87 

simile  of  the  "  superior  clay  "  helped  me  a  little,  at  last.  I 
decided  that  Nature  had  moulded  Mrs.  Danforth  of  the 
coarsest  earth  rather  than  the  most  delicate;  but  circum- 
stances had  placed  her  in  a  high  position,  and  given  her  a 
large  experience  of  men  and  manners,  and  so  the  rude 
material  had  been  painted,  and  gilded,  and  varnished,  and 
made  to  show,  as  nearly  as  possible,  like  Sevres  porcelain. 
But  nothing  could  altogether  conceal  it.  Notwithstanding 
her  fluent,  often  witty,  speech,  her  polished  manners,  her 
elegant  dress,  her  haughty  carriage,  there  was  some  in- 
scrutable hint  about  her  of  a  latent  coarseness  of  nature, 
upon  which  a  vast  deal  of  refinement  had  been  lavished, 
without  being  able  to  eradicate  it. 

On  the  whole,  she  impressed  me  much  as  a  washer- 
woman, masquerading  as  a  queen,  might  have  done,  only  in 
a  far  less  marked  and  offensive  degree.  I  have  often  seen 
German  and  Spanish  women  of  identical  characteristics, 
rarely  an  American.  Yet  I  am  told  that  no  foreign  element 
tinctures  the  ebb  and  flow  in  her  veins.  It  must  be  one  of 
those  curious  cases  of  intermittent  hereditary  transmission, 
which  now  and  then  startle  families  with  what  appears  to 
be  the  introduction  of  a  new  type,  but  is  only  the  restora- 
tion of  an  ancient  one.  Probably  the  blood  of  some  old 
time  German  actress,  or  Spanish  cantatrice,  after  running 
underground,  as  it  w«re,  for  two  or  three  centuries,  flashes 
up  to  light  again  in  this  showy,  fluent,  haughty  New 
Yorker,  of  our  day. 

Her  treatment  of  others  was  an  ingenious  compound  of 
easy  familiai-ity  and  condescension,  the  latter  being  rather 
a  subtle,  elusive  flavor  than  a  manifest  ingredient:  Nor 
did  this  manner  alter  in  the  least  for  any  difference  of  pei'- 
sons.  Obviously,  Mrs.  Danforth  was  too  much  engrossed 
with  her  own  huge  egotism,  to  trouble  herself  to  discrimi- 
nate between  the  egotisms  of  others. 

Aunt  Vin  eyed  her  curiously  and  silently  for  a  considera- 
ble time,  then,  willing  to  be  agreeable,  she  addressed  her, — 


88  SHILOH. 

"  Was  there  much  predisposition  in  the  city  when  you 
left,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  To  what',  madam  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Danforth,  after  an 
unavailing  attempt  to  catch  the  slippery  purport  of  the 
question. 

"  Why,  I  mean  small-pox,  and  typus  fever,  and  dipthery, 
and  diaeresis,  and  cholery  infanticide,  and  all  those  refec- 
tious  and  benignant  deceases  that  carry  off  you  city-folks 
to  Haids  before  your  time." 

Mrs.  Danforth's  eyes  opened  a  trifle  wider,  and  she  gave 
Miss  Lavinia  a  keen  look,  as  if  to  discover  what  manner  of 
person  this  might  be ;  then  she  answered,  courteously 
enough, — 

"  I  left  before  the  sickly  season  commenced.  The  doc- 
tor advised  me  to  give  my  children  the  benefit  of  a  long 
summer  in  the  country  ;  they  have  always  been  delicate." 

"  Do  tell ! "  exclaimed  Aunt  Yin,  with  great  interest, 
"  I  must  come  and  see  them,  poor  little  dears  !  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  'twas  worms  that  ailed  them  ;  and  if  there's  any- 
thing that  I'm  'Ofate'  on  (as  the  French  say),  it's  chil- 
dren's complaints,  ma'am.  I'm  particularly  innoxious  to 
worms.  First,  I  give  them  a  mild  purgatory  to  eradicate 
the  bowels ;  and  then  a  good,  strong  conic  that  old  Dr. 
Nichols  told  me  of.  If  you'll  follow  my  advice,  ma'am,  I'll 
promise  to  make  Tritons  of  your  children,  in  a  foi'tnight." 

Mrs.  Danforth  listened  to  this  alarming  proposition  with 
a  command  of  countenance  that  did  her  infinite  credit. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  only  the  faintest  suspicion  of 
irony  in  her  tone,  "  I  shall  be  quite  satisfied  with  some- 
thing less  than  that.  If  you  can  make  strong,  hearty  chil- 
dren of  them,  you  will  place  me  under  unspeakable  obliga- 
tion to  you.  And  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  your  ad- 
vice." 

Mrs.  Prescott  now  cleared  her  throat  with  an  emphatic 
"  Ahem !  "  that  meant  business. 


IX. 


IN   OFFICE. 

ADIES,"  said  Mrs.  Prescott,  "  you  all  know 
what  has  brought  us  together.     There  is 
a   chance   of  our   having  a   minister   once 
more ;  we  want  to  do  what  we  can  to  make 
it  a  ceitainty.     The  men  say  that  Shiloh 
can't  support  a  clergyman.     I  say  it  can,  if 
it  does  its  best.     We  have  met  to-day  to 
find  out  what  our  Sewing  Society  is  willing 
to  do  toward  supporting  one." 

MBS.  BURCHAM.  It's  my  opinion,  that  if  we  did  less, 
the  men  would  do  more.  They  are  not  going  to  follow 
petticoat  lead ;  I  wouldn't  if  I  was  they.  We  ought  to 
wait  for  them  to  go  ahead,  and  then  take  hold  and  help 
them  with  all  our  might. 

MRS.  PRESCOTT  (sharply).  That's  nonsense,  Mrs.  Bur- 
cham,  and  you  know  it.  We  should  wait  till  doomsday. 
I  did  wait  three  years  before  I  got  our  last  minister,  Mr. 
Dragner,  to  come  here ;  and  I've  waited  six  months  since 
he  left,  and  begged  and  prayed  every  man  in  the  place  to 
take  hold  of  the  matter,  before  I  did  anything  about  it. 
They  didn't  any  of  them  "  like  to  take  the  responsibility !  " 
But  if  I  had  a  husband,  he  should  take  it.  Suppose  you 
get  Major  Burcham  to ! 

ESSIE  VOLGER  (aside  to  me).  Cousin  Priscilla  has  made 
a  fine  mess  of  it  now — I  wish  she  would  keep  her  tongue 
in  better  order !  Mrs.  Burcham  will  not  get  over  that  shot 
in  six  months ;  it  hit  hard.  You  see,  Miss  Frost,  Major 


90  SHILOH. 

Burcham  is  the  dog  in  the  manger,  in  our  parish ;  he  won't 
do  anything  himself,  and  his  example  and  influence  keep 
back  others. 

AUNT  VIST  (adding  her  testimony  in  another  aside). 
Yes,  Miss  Frost,  and  then  he's  a  proud,  porpoise  sort  of  a 
man,  who  likes  to  have  people  believe  he's  the  very  centre 
and  circumvention  of  all  things ;  and  when  Mr.  Taylor 
comes  here,  he'll  make  him  a  high-blown  speech,  chock-full 
of  polysyllabub  words,  and  take  the  credit  of  everything 
we've  done. 

Mrs.  Burcham  being  speechless  with  confusion  and  rage, 
Mrs.  Prescott  proceeded : 

"  Our  first  business  is  to  organize  the  Society.  It  has 
always  been  our  custom  to  take  the  names  and  fees  for 
memberships  first,  as  only  members  are  allowed  to  vote. 
Nothing  less  than  twelve  and  a  half  cents  constitutes  a 

O 

member,  but  you  can  pay  just  as  much  more  as  you  please. 
Esther,  will  you  take  down  the  names  ?  " 

Mrs.  Danforth  took  five  dollars  from  her  purse,  with  a 
mixture  of  carelessness  and  ostentation.  Other  donations 
appeared  to  consist  of  very  small  sums  ;  if  the  widow's  mite 
had  any  lineal  descendant  among  them,  it  must  have  been 
the  half-dollar  of  poor,  little  Mrs.  Banser,  with  four  chil- 
dren and  a  drunken  husband  depending  on  her  needle  for 
bread, — who  blushed  as  if  she  thought  s>he  had  taken  a 
liberty,  or  been  convicted  of  extravagance,  when  she  found 
that  far  richer  people  gave  no  more.  For  some  unacknowl- 
edged reason, — or  it  might  have  been  merely  the  effect  of 
an  idle  mood, — I  was  averse  to  become  a  member  of  the 
Society.  But  it  was  a  pleasure  to  contribute  what  I  could 
to  the  fund,  and  Essie  paid  no  attention  to  my  whispered 
injunction  not  to  put  my  name  on  her  list,  except  to  make 
a  comical  grimace,  and  show  it  to  me,  written  out  in  very 
exaggerated  characters. 

MKS.  PKESCOTT.  It  is  our  custom  to  appoint  a  Secretary 


SIIILOH.  91 

next,  that  she  may  be  in  readiness  to  take  notes  of  our  pro- 
ceedings. Will  anybody  give  a  nomination  ? 

MKS.  SEBEK.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that — a — people 
who  have  always — a — resided  in  one  place,  and — a — done 
business  in — a — one  way,  are  apt  to  get  into — a — set  ways 
of  doing — a — things.  On  that  account,  it  is  a  good  thing 
to — a — work  in  new  material,  when  it  comes  to — a — hand. 
No  doubt  our  Society  would  be  the  better  for  some — a — 
new  material,  and  therefore — a — a — I  nominate  Miss 
Frost. 

I  had  watched  the  painful  progress  of  this  speech  with- 
out the  faintest  suspicion  that  it  was  limping  in  any  direc- 
tion that  could  concern  me ;  its  termination,  therefore,  as- 
tonished me  nearly  as  much  as  if  a  mild-looking  churn  had 
suddenly  exploded  a  seven-inch  shell  in  my  face.  Before  I 
could  speak,  Miss  Essie  had  called  out,  in  clear,  brisk  tones, 
"  I  second  that  nomination." 

MKS.  PRESCOTT.  I  don't  think  it  is  necessary  to  vote 
by  ballot ;  we  will  try  it  without.  All  who  are  in  favor 
of— 

But,  by  this  time,  I  had  recovered  from  my  surprise 
enough  to  interfere.  A  spice  of  indignation  that  a  trap 
should  be  sprung  upon  me  thus,  enabled  me  to  do  so  in  a 
tone  not  to  be  ignored.  "  Mrs.  Prescott,"  I  began,  "  excuse 
me  for  interrupting  you,  but — " 

Miss  ESSIE  (in  an  alarmed  whisper).  For  heaven's  sake, 
Miss  Frost ! — for  the  sake  of  all  that  is  good-natured  and 
obliging ! — 

AUNT  VIN  (in  equally  dismayed  tones,  from  the  other 
side).  Now  don't  decline,  pray  don't !  Leastways,  wait  and 
insult  Mis'  Prescott  about  it ! 

I  (taking  no  notice  of  either).  While  I  thank  the  ladies 
very  sincerely  for  the  honor  they  have  done  me,  and  which 
I  duly  appreciate — 

ESSIE  (in  consternation).  If  you  decline  now,  they  will 
get  in  somebody  who  will  ruin  everything ! 


92  SHILOH. 

AUNT  VINT  (insinuatingly).  A  young  lady  who  has  such 
a  dereliction  for  good  works ! 

I  (proceeding  steadily).  I  must  beg  to  decline  the  nom- 
ination, most  respectfully,  yet  decidedly.  There  are  many 
ladies  present,  who,  being  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
work  to  be  done  in  Shiloh,  and  the  best  way  of  doing  it, 
can  fill  these  offices  better  than  any  stranger.  It  gives  me 
pleasure  to  nominate  in  my  place — Miss  Volger. 

And  I  turned  to  that  young  lady  with  a  most  demure 
look.  She  bit  her  lip.  "  You  might  have  done  worse,  it 
must  be  confessed,"  whispered  she;  "I  was  afraid  you 
would  leave  them  without  any  nomination,  and  I  saw  that 
Mrs.  Burcham  had  one  at  her  tongue's  end,  ready  for  the 
instant  you  stopped  talking ;  yours  has  disconcerted  her  a 
little.  But  I  don't  want  to  be  Secretary,  it  is  not  in  my 
line ;  besides,  I  am  booked  for  something  else.  There,  she 
has  got  a  shaft  ready." 

MRS.  BURCHAM.  Miss  Frost's  action  in  this  matter  does 
credit  both  to  her  modesty  and  her  good  judgment.  As 
she  says,  some  one  who  knows  the  place  and  people — 

.  MRS.  PRESCOTT  (interrupting  her).  It  doesn't  need  any 
knowledge  of  the  place  or  people,  to  keep  accounts.  Miss 
Frost  is  perfectly  competent  to  fill  the  office  to  our  full 
satisfaction ;  and  the  less  she  knows  about  the  place  and 
people,  the  more  likely  she  will  be  to  take  some  satisfaction 
in  it  herself.  I  do  hope  she  will  reconsider  the  matter 
(looking  unutterable  entreaties  at  me).  She  might  help  us 
so  much, — I  know  she's  had  some  experience  in  such  work. 
And  she  won't  be  half  so  likely  to  take  an  interest  in  our 
work,  if 'she  doesn't  identify  herself  with  it,  and  keep  the. 
run  of  it.  Miss  Frost,  won't  you  allow  the  vote  to  be 
taken  ? 

AuNT-Viisr.  Do  dissent,  now,  do  ! 

MRS.  BURCHAM  (quickly).  Essie  Volger' s  name  is  before 
the  meeting. 

I  suddenly  became  aware  of  a  rising  dislike  for  Mrs. 


SHILOH.  93 

Burcham,  and  a  desire  to  see  her  outwitted.  Not  that  I 
suspected  her  of  any  hostility  to  me,  personally ;  I  saw 
plainly  enough  that  her  opposition  was  levelled  at  Mrs. 
Prescott,  whose  candidate  she  believed  me  to  be.  But  one 
docs  not  care  to  subserve  another  person's  vengeance  in  a 
quarrel  which  does  not  concern  him,  and  the  attempt  to 
make  him  do  so  is  nearly  certain  to  convert  him  from  an 
idle  spectator  into  an  interested  partisan.  Moreover,  it  is 
next  to  impossible  to  watch  any  contest  long  with  purely 
neutral  feelings ; — whatever  be  the  natural  or  artificial  re- 
moteness between  ourselves  and  the  combatants,  there  are 
innumerable  unsuspected  and  hidden  channels  by  which  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  a  common  humanity  will  pervade  our  hearts 
and  minds,  and  draw  us  inevitably  into  the  excitements  and 
sympathies  of  the  occasion.  In  the  interest  of  the  struggle, 
the  listless  mood  which  had  possessed  me  since  morning 
wore  off;  and  I  became  dimly  aware  that  some  personal' 
duty  might  be  involved  in  it ;  but  no  time  was  given  me  to 
decide  what. 

Miss  ESSIE.  I  shall  consider  it  a  pleasure,  Mrs.  Bur- 
cham, to  withdraw  in  favor  of  Miss  Frost,  if  she  will  allow 
me.  (Then,  in  a  whisper  to  me).  Do  say  you'll  take  it ! 

MKS.  BURCHAM  (doggedly).  I  call  for  the  vote.  Miss 
Essie  has  the  nomination. 

MALA.  Are  you  going  to  let  that  spiteful  woman  have 
her  way  ? 

I  hesitated.  Not  that  I  regarded  the  Secretaryship  with 
any  more  favor,  having  had  some  previous  experience  of  the 
utter  thanklessness  of  the  office ;  but  I  did  feel  as  if  it  would 
give  me  pleasure  to  demolish  Mrs.  Burcham.  Essie  saw 
the  hesitation,  and  took  courage. 

"  I  re-nominate  Miss  Frost,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sure  she 
feels  it  to  be  her  duty  to  yield  to  our  solicitations.  Mrs. 
Seber  seconds  the  nomination.  Cousin  Priscilla,  please  put 
the  vote." 

Mrs.  Burcham  made  one  last  effort.     "  My  dear  Essie," 


94  SHILOII. 

she  said,  blandly,  "  I  cannot  allow  you  to  withdraw  in  that 
way,  as  if  we  made  you  serve  for  '  Jack  at  a  pinch.'  There 
is  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  have  two,  or  more,  candi- 
dates, and  vote  by  ballot.  Are  there  any  more  nomina- 
tions ?  " 

A  weak  voice  from  a  corner  responded,  "  Miss  Bryer." 

"  Certainly,"  returned  Mrs.  Burcham,  with  immense 
cordiality.  "  Ladies,  your  candidates  are  Miss  Volger,  Miss 
Frost,  and  Miss  Bryer." 

Essie  made  a  face,  but  said  nothing.  She  and  Mrs.  Bur- 
cham distributed  slips  of  paper  and  pencils,  and  it  was  plain 
enough  that  sly  winks  and  hints  were  dispensed  in  about 
an  equal  ratio.  Mrs.  Prescott  announced  the  result,  with  a 
note  of  triumph  in  her  voice,  "Miss  Frost,  twenty-one 
votes ;  Esther  Volger,  seven  votes ;  Miss  Bryer,  one  vote. 
Miss  Frost  is  elected." 

BOJTA  (in  a  still,  small,  but  most  distinct  voice).  So  you 
are  Secretary.  Not  for  the  sake  of  the  Church,  not  from  a 
humble  desire  to  be  of  use  where  the  Providence  of  God 
has  placed  you,  not  even  from  a  willingness  to  oblige,  mainly, 
— but  from  the  paltry  ambition  to  override  and  mortify  a 
woman  that  you  never  saw  before  to-day,  and  to  whom  you 
happen  to  have  taken  a  dislike ! 

Abashed  and  confounded  by  this  plain  statement  of  the 
case,  I  was  only  half-conscious  of  what  was  done  next,  until 
I  found  myself  at  a  small  table,  with  some  sheets  of  foolscap 
paper,  yellowed  by  time,  a  rusty  steel  pen,  and  a  bottle  of 
pale,  scared-looking  ink,  before  me.  Then,  I  drew  a  little 
comfort  from  the  pleased  and  satisfied  faces  of  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott and  Essie ;  and  straightway  fell  to  berating  myself  for 
doing  so.  "  For  "  said  I  to  myself,  "  wrong-doing  is  not 
the  less  wrong-doing  because  it  pleases  somebody  else." 

BONA  (more  kindly).  Now  you  are  confounding  the  act 
with  the  motive.  There  is  no  harm  in  your  being  Secre- 
tary, if  you  work  in  the  right  spirit,  henceforth ;  there  is 
yet  time  to  overcome  evil  with  good.  You  have  only  to 


SHILOH.  95 

take  care  that  the  whole  of  your  incumbency  is  not  accord- 
ing to  its  beginning. 

MKS.  PRESCOTT.  We  will  now  proceed  to  elect  a  Presi- 
dent, when  I  shall  be  glad  to  resign  the  chair.  Any  nom- 
inations ? 

Miss  ESSIE.  I  nominate  Mrs.  Danforth. 

MRS.  SHEMNAB.  I  second  the  nomination. 

MKS.  BUBCHAM.  I  nominate  Mrs.  Seber. 

FAINT  VOICE  FBOM  THE  COBJSTEB.  Miss  Bryer. 

I  shot  a  glance  at  Mrs.  Danforth,  to  see  how  she  took 
her  nomination,  and  discerned  that  she  must  have  been 
prepared  for  it ; — doubtless,  there  was  a  conference,  some- 
where, before  her  introduction  to  our  assembly.  Then  I 
fell  to  wondering  what  could  be  her  motives  for  accepting 
it,  and  let  my  conjectures  stray  into  some  crooked,  and  not 
over-clean  paths,  in  search  of  them ; — which  might  have 
taught  me  something,  by  inference,  of  the  places  whence 
my  own  motives  are  too  often  derived.  But  it  is  a  mourn- 
ful wisdom,  at  best,  that  questions  motives;  and  oftener 
misleads  than  guides  aright. 

After  balloting,  Mrs.  Danforth  was  declared  elected  by 
an  overwhelming  majority ;  whereupon  she  took  the  chair 
with  an  easy,  nonchalant  grace,  implying  that  she  had  not 
so  much  assumed  the  office,  as  attracted  it  to  herself,  by 
some  inevitable  operation  of  natural  affinities.  Up  to  this 
moment,  she  had  watched  the  course  of  events  with  a  stud- 
ied carelessness  and  indifference ;  now  her  manner  changed ; 
she  became  alive  and  animated  to  her  very  tinger-tips  ;  and 
the  rest  of  the  organization  went  forward  with  a  celerity, 
a  decorum,  and  an  attention  to  parliamentary  rules,  that 
showed  her  to  be  thoroughly  conversant  with  the- details  of 
her  office.  Mrs.  Seber  quickly  became  Vice-President,  and 
Essie  was  chosen  Treasurer,  without  a  dissenting  voice. 
But  over  the  First  Directress,  there  was  a  sharp  contest. 
Mrs.  Pfescott  had  designed  this  office  for  herself,  and  so 
constituted  its  duties  as  to  make  it  serve,  upon  necessity, 


96  SHILOH. 

as  a  check  on  the  President.  She  was  duly  nominated  by 
Mrs.  Seb£r;  but  Mrs.  Burcham  also  contrived  to  get  a 
nomination,  and  there  was  the  usual  weak  call  from  the 
corner  (now  nearly  extinct)  for  "  Miss  Brycr."  Essie,  how- 
ever, did  her  cousin  good  service  in  the  electioneering  way, 
keeping  a  sharp  look  out  for  Mrs.  Shemnar  and  other 
weak-backed  minds ;  and  so  Mrs.  Prescott  won  by  two 
votes  ;  Mrs.  Burcham  and  Miss  Bryer  being  declared  Sec- 
ond and  Third  Directresses. 

"  The  millenium  is  come ! "  exclaimed  Essie,  in  her 
laughing  aside  to  me, — "  The  lion,  the  tiger,  and  the  sheep 
are  to  work  together  !  But  what  a  quantity  of  flattery 
and  finesse  I  shall  have  to  expend  upon  that  poor  sheep,  to 
make  her  cooperate  with  the  lion,  and  not  with  the  tiger, 
and  so  keep  a  majority  of  our  directresses  on  the  right 
side !  However,  we  have  got  our  ticket  elected,  pretty 
much  as  we  settled  it  beforehand.  Mrs.  Burcham  is  the 
only  interpolation,  and  she  is  null  and  void,  with  two  to 
outvote  her." 

A  constitution  was  next  produced,  and  accepted,  with 
a  few  alterations ;  and  a  book  containing  former  records  of 
the  Society  was  handed  over  to  me, — of  which  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott remarked,  parenthetically,  that  "  nobody  had  ever 
been  able  to  make  head  or  tail  of  them,  and  she  did  hope 
my  accounts  would  be  kept  more  orderly ;  for  there  were 
always  disagreeable  people  around,  to  insinuate  that  there 
must  be  something  wrong  about  what  they  didn't  under- 
stand." 

A  bag  of  patchwork  was  next  produced  and  distributed ; 
and  Mrs.  Danforth  took  a  pair  of  ivory  needles  and  a  ball 
,  of  worsted  from  her  pocket,  and  commenced  knitting  with 
wonderful  velocity, — her  diamonds  flashing  with  the  quick 
motion,  and  her  mobile  face  furnishing  a  kind  of  pictorial 
illustration  of  her  sparkling,  graceful  talk. 

"  Be  it  known  to  all  and  sundry,"  she  remarked,  "  that 
I  always  knit  in  Society ;  it  is  the  thing  I  can  do  the  best, 


SHILOH.  97 

and  like  the  best  to  do.  I  have  a  passion  for  worsteds. 
Bright  colors  enchant  me.  A  well  stocked  worsted  store 
holds  me  enchained  longer  than  a  picture-gallery.  I  dream 
of  new  colors  and  patterns ;  and  I  go  distracted  because  I 
cannot  reproduce  them,  when  I  wake.  However,  I  can 
make  any  number  and  variety  of  pretty  things  for  fairs 
and  tea-parties ;  and  you  will  see,  one  of  these  days,  that  I 
am  not  an  altogether  unprofitable  laborer  in  your  field. 
Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Prescott,  what  is  it  about  that  minister 
who  is  coming  to  preach  for  us  to-morrow  ?  " 

Mrs.  Prescott  reiterated  the  statement  she  had  made  to 
me,  with  some  additional  particulars. 

MRS.  BUKCHAM.  I  hope  you  did  not  tell  him  he  could 
come  here,  before  we've  heard  him,  and  decided  if  we  like 
him ! 

MRS.  PRESCOTT  (with  asperity).  That  is  just  what  I 
did  tell  him.  What's  the  use  of  putting  on  airs  about  it  ? 
The  question  with  Shiloh  is  not  who  we'll  have,  but  who 
we  can  get.  Mr.  Taylor,  ma'am,  begun  life  as  a  book- 
keeper, or  an  agent,  or  something  of  that  sort ;  but  his 
whole  heart  is  in  the  Lord's  work,  and  he  has  been  so  suc- 
cessful as  a  lay-reader,  and  so  forth,  in city,  that  he  be- 
lieves it  is  his  duty  to  devote  himself  to  it  entirely.  So  he 
has  fitted  himself  for  the  ministry,  and  is  going  to  begin  it 
among  us.  The  real  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that,  to  do  •  us 
good,  he  gives  up  a  certainty  for  an  uncertainty,  a  comfort- 
able livelihood  for  a  miserable  pittance  given  grudgingly, 
and  the  right  to  be  his  own  master  for  the  privilege  of 
being  everybody's  servant.  And  you  talk  of  waiting  to 
see  how  we  like  him ! 

MRS.  DANFORTH  (speaking  so  quickly  as  to  prevent  Mrs. 
Burcham  from  answering).  You.  make  him  out  quite  a 
hero,  Mrs.  Prescott.  I  am  already  profoundly  interested 
in  him  ;  and  no  doubt  we  shall  all  like  him.  But  is  he  com- 
ing here  without  a  call,  or  is  our  Society  to  vote  him  one  ? 

MRS.  PRESCOTT.  Oh  !  the  Bishop  sends  him.  Shiloh  is 
5 


(jy  SIIILOH. 

considered  Missionary  ground'.  Our  business  is  only  to 
see  that  he  is  kept  from  starvation.  Miss  Frost,  how  much 
do  those  memberships  foot  lip  ? 

"  Twenty-seven  dollars." 

MBS.  SEBER.  That  will  pay  his  house-rent,  if  he  can 
find  one.  By  the  way,  where  is  he  to  live  ? 

MBS.  PEESCOTT.  In  my  house. 

MRS.  SEBER  (looking  at  her  in  great  amazement}. 
In  your  house !  Then  what  is  to  become  of  William 
Dunn? 

MBS  PRESCOTT  (shortly).  That  is  his  lookout. 

MRS.  SHEMNAR.  Poor  man  !  I  don't  believe  he  can 
find  another  house  in  the  place. 

MRS.  PRESCOTT  (with  increased  asperity).  He  can  go 
out  of  it,  then.  He's  never  done  it  any  good,  that  I  know 
of.  A  man  who  doesn't  care  a  straw  for  the  Church,  and 
spends  Sunday  in  counting  his  sheep,  and  patching  up  his 
fences  !  I  tell  you,  people  who  deal  with  me,  will  find  out 
that  everything  and  everybody  has'  got  to  stand  aside  for 
the  Church.  I  know  it  isn't  other  people's  way  of  doing 
business,  but  it's  my  way ;  and  I  don't  calculate  to  change 
it,  for  nobody.  Least  of  all,  for  a  man  like  William  Dunn. 
He  makes  his  bed  to  suit  him,  I  guess,  and  he  can  lie  in  it. 

There  Was  a  silence  of  some  moments ;  Mrs.  Prescott's 
set  mouth,  and  irate  look,  not  encouraging  further  prosecu- 
tion of  the  subject  in  hand.  Mrs.  Danforth  had  the  tact 
to  recur  to  the  previous  question.  "  What  has  Mr.  Taylor 
to  depend  upon  besides  these  twenty-seven  dollars  ? "  in- 
quired she. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  almost  to  a  fraction,"  answered  Essie. 
"  Our  Society  will  raise  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  dol- 
lars ;  it  always  has,  somehow,  and  it  certainly  can  this  year, 
beginning  under  such  unusually  favorable  auspices.  The 
seats  will  sell  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  or  thei-e- 
abouts ;  and  the  Christian  Knowledge  Society  gives  us  a 
hundred  more.  Take  into  account  that  he  will  get  his  rent 


SHILOH.  99 

for  little, — or  nothing, — and  that  Shiloh  is  a  cheap  place  to 
live  in,  where  he  can  wear  out  his  old  clothes, — if  he  has 
any, — and  nobody  hurt ; — and  you  have  the  sum  total  of 
Mr.  Taylor's  resources." 

"  Three  hundred  and  ninety-seven  dollars,  and  a  family 
to  support ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Danforth,  with  a  clear,  some- 
what loud  laugh, — not  in  the  least  like  the  laugh  of  fash- 
ionable women,  in  general, — "  why,  he  had  better  advertise 
for  a  situation  as  coachman,  at  once ! " 

Mrs.  Prescott's  set  features  softened  a  little.  "  So  he 
had,  ma'am,  if  it's  money  he  thinks  of.  But  he's  doing  the 
Lord's  work,  and  I  hope  He  will  give  him  bread  to  eat  that 
we  know  not  of." 

MRS.  DAXFORTH  (icith  a  comical  lifting  of  her  eye- 
brows). It  is  devoutly  to  be  hoped  He  will !  But  it  is  our 
business  to  see  that  Ire  has  bread  to  eat — and  butter,  too — 
that  we  do  know  of !  I  think  I  can  promise  you  that  the 
Society  will  raise  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
this  year.  And  if  those  seats  don't  sell  for  a  larger  sum 
than  you  mention,  I'll  sit  on  the  doorstep — or  buy  them 
all !  Six  hundred  dollars  is  the  very  least  that  Mr.  Taylor 
ought  to  have,  and  that  is  less  than  a  single  pew  sells  for, 
in  the  church  I  attend,  in  Xew  York. 

MRS.  PRESCOTT.  But  you  see,  the  church  has  been  un- 
occupied so  long  that  it  is  in  a  dreadful  state  ; — we've  got 
to  raise  some  money  for  repairs,  too.  And  you  don't  know 
whafc  sort  of  people  you  have  to  deal  with,  Mrs.  Danforth  ; 
farmers  don't  have  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  a  cent  looks 
bigger  to  them  than  a  dollar  does  to  you. 

"Ah,  well,  we  shall  see,"  answered  Mrs.  Danforth, 
cheerily. 

The  afternoon  wore  on  swiftly  enough.  The  blocks 
of  patchwork  were  gathered  as  fast  as  finished,'  and  Essie 
brought  me  a  pile  of  them,  with  a  very  amused  face. 

"  If  you  want  to  see,"  said  she,  "  how  people  carry  their 
individuality  even  into  so  mechanical  a  process  as  sewing, 


100  SHILOH. 

just  examine  these  specimens  of  needlework,  and  try  to 
find  two  alike.  To  utilize  your  study  to  the  Society,  you 
can,  at  the  same  time,  trim  the  blocks  down  to  one  size." 

I  found  smooth  work  and  puckered  work,  wide  seams 
and  narrow  seams,  straight  seams  and  crooked  seams,  neat 
seams  and  soiled  seams  ;  long  stitches,  short  stitches,  deli- 
cate stitches,  heavy  stitches,  stitches  set  with  the  precision 
of  a  machine,  and  stitches  in  a  state  of  riot ;  but  I  did  not 
find  the  "  two  alike." 

With  the  sewing,  a  good  deal  of  talk  went  on,  of  a 
corresponding  diversity  of  tone  and  character.  It  was  not 
the  kind  of  talk  I  have  heard  in  Aunt  Belle's  drawing- 
room,  when  the  "  Dorcas  Bag  "  met  there ;  much  of  it  had 
to  do  with  farm  and  dairy  matters,  and  was  couched  in 
terms  that  would  sound  like  an  unknown  tongue  to  that 
elegant  assemblage ; — but  it  was  kindly,  sensible,  and  prac- 
tical, for  the  most  part ;  without  any  of  that  frothy  noth- 
ingness on  its  flow,  which  has  made  me  so  soul-sick  in  the 
city  organization.  In  the  matter  of  gossip,  the  two  stood 
upon  a  more  equal  footing  than  I  had  expected ;  if  there 
was  more  of  it  in  the  rural  association,  it  was  also  of  a  pet- 
tier character,  and  less  scathing.  The  victim  would,  doubt- 
less, have  felt  pricked  all  over,  if  he  could  have  heard  it ; 
but  he  would  not  feel  the  quick,  sharp  thrust,  penetrating 
to  the  vitals,  with  which  his  city  friends  would  transfix, — 
and  leave  him.  In  the  country,  gossip  is  a  pastime ;  in  the 
city,  it  is  a  warfare. 

Moreover,  there  was  a  certain  informality,  very  pleasant 
to  see,  in  the  intercourse  of  the  Shilohites, — after  the  first 
stiffness,  and  the  little  asperities  evoked  by  the  election,  had 
worn  off.  Their  manner  to  each  other  was  characterized 
by  a  lack  of  ceremony  and  a  directness  of  speech,  which 
were  yet  without  any  approach  to  rudeness.  I  carried 
away  an  impression  of  a  friendly,  sincere,  and  genuine, 
though  somewhat  narrow,  life ;  not  without  its  place  and 
value  in  the  economy  of  existence ;  and  capable  of  being 


SHILOH.  101 

refined,  by  right  feeling  and  a  generous  spirit,  into  a  sim- 
ple beauty  that  would  have  its  own  exceeding  charm. 

At  five  o'clock,  supper  was  announced.  A  by-law,  re- 
straining hospitable  instincts — or  housewifely  ambition — in 
the  matter  of  eatables,  having  been  passed,  over  much  de- 
termined opposition,  it  was  limited  to  tea,  biscuits,  butter, 
cheese,  preserves,  and  one  sort  of  cake, — the  last  item  being 
felt  to  be  one  of  almost  imendurable  rigor.  The  house- 
wife's skill  did  what  it  could,  however,  to  cover  itself  with 
glory,  in  the  matter  of  quality ;  and  succeeded  so  well,  that 
any  fault-finder  would  have  deserved  a  diploma  from  the 
Society  for  the  Promotion  and  Encouragement  of  Grum- 
bling ; — if  there  be  one. 

There  was  no  "  standing  upon  order,"  in  the  serving. 
Each  lady  helped  herself  to  what  she  liked  (and  as  many 
others  as  her  good-nature  prompted)  and  ate  it  in  any  spot 
that  suited  her  mood.  There  were  little  knots  of  tea-drink- 
ers, therefore,  scattered  all  through  the  rooms,  and  some  in 
the  porch  and  door-yard.  Essie  and  I  took  ours  on  the 
front  doorstep ;  the  lilacs  meeting  overhead,  and  framing 
with  verdure  the  pretty  view  of  hill-side  and  lakelet ;  and 
Aunt  Vin  sitting  in  the  doorway,  listening  benignantly  to 
our  chat,  till  a  thought  of  "  cows  "  and  "  milking-time  " 
hurried  her  homeward.  As  she  took  her  departure,  she 
favored  us  with  her  opinion  of  the  afternoon's  proceed- 
ings. 

"The  Society's  begun  suspiciously,  Essie  Volger,  and 
that's  good,  as  far  as  it  goes.  But  smart  as  you  and  Pris- 
cilla  Prescott  think  yourselves,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you'd 
caught  a  cream-of-tartar  in  that  Mis'  Danforth.  She'll  do 
well  enough  as  long  as  your  mind  and  hers  runs  parallax, 
but  when  hers  wants  to  go  north  and  yours  east,  I  reckon 
you'll  see  a  promotion."  And  shaking  her  head  grimly 
over  whatever  gloomy  prospect  was  mysteriously  shadowed 
forth  in  this  mild  prediction,  Aunt  Vin  went  after  her  sun- 
bonnet. 


102  SHILOH 

* 

In  the  midst  of  the  pleasant  bustle  of  leave-taking,  Mrs. 
Danforth  sought  me  out.  "  I  believe  we  are  compatriots," 
said  she,  holding  out  her  small,  jeweled  hand,  with  her 
usual  mixture  of  hauteur,  languor,  and  cordiality, — "  I  am 
glad  there  is  somebody  to  whom  I  can  say  '  How  queer !  ' 
over  these  Shiloh  people.  Do  they  not  amuse  you 
mightily  ?  " 

"  A  little,  sometimes ;  but  they  command  my  esteem, 
too." 

"  Oh !  yes,  of  course,"  (with  the  slightest  perceptible 
dryness  of  intonation.)  "  I  have  no  doubt  they  are  very 
estimable  people, — all  of  them ; — particularly  that  queer 
old  maid  whose  vocabulary  seems  to  suffer  from  what  she 
would  probably  call  a  '  suffusion  worse  dumb-founded.'  I 
believe  I  am  the  first  comer  in  Shiloh,  by  a  day  or  two,  so  I 
shall  have  to  call  upon  you.  May  I  come  any  time  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  I  do  not  think  reception  days  are  in  vogue 
here.  And  I  have  not  the  least  wish  to  introduce  them ;  I 
am  only  too  glad  to  dispense  with  the  fashionable  code  and 
the  minor  proprieties,  for  a  time.  I  have  some  thought  of 
sending  the  fripperies  after  the  code.  I  went  to  Clay  Cor- 
ner, and  bought  me  a  calico  dress,  this  morning ; — do  not 
marvel  if  I  return  your  call  in  it." 

"  Allow  me  to  suggest  that  you  make  it  after  the  Vocab- 
ulary's pattern,  with  a  sunbonnet  to  match,"  said  she,  with 
an  irresistibly  comic  face.  "  I  hope  you  do  not  need  to  be 
told  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,in  that  or  anything  else. 
Good  morning,  or  good  evening — or  whatever  it  is, — really, 
if  there  be  one  thing  more  marvellous  than  another  about 
these  people,  it  is  the  hours  they  keep."  And  Mrs.  Dan- 
forth smiled  and  bowed  herself  out. 

We  reached  home  while  the  sun  was  yet  an  hour  high. 
Mrs.  Divine  was  standing  in  the  doorway. 

"  I  have  the  honor,"  said  I,  making  her  a  low  courtesy, 
"  of  introducing  to  you  the  Secretary  of  the  Ladies'  Sewing 
Society  of  St.  Jude's  Parish,  Shiloh." 


SIIILOH.  103 

"  Indeed !  "  she  answered,  giving  me  a  keen  look,  "  so 
Priscilla  got  you  in,  after  all !  I  told  her  she  wouldn't.  I 
thought  she  wasn't  going  the  right  way  to  work ;  I  had  a 
notion  that  '  AH  open  and  above-board '  was  your  motto. 
But  I'm  real  glad  all  the  same ; — you'll  make  a  good  one. 
How  did  it  all  happen  ?  " 

I  thought  of  Mala's  short,  persuasive  speech,  and  was 
silent.  But  Mrs.  Prescott  opportunely  launched  into  a 
spirited  account  of  the  afternoon's  events,  and  the  silence 
passed  unnoticed. 


THE   MORKISTG    SERVICE. 

[HAT  a  day  it  was  !  One  of  those  fresh,  exu- 
berant days  of  dawning  summer, — never 
quite  so  perfect  as  on  Sunday, — when  thought 
involuntarily  goes  back  to  the  story  of  crea- 
tion, and  God's  pleasure  in  His  finished  work. 
When  all  things  visible  seem  so  fresh,  so 
pure,  and  so  glad, that  we  are  fain  to  believe 
our  Earth  has  entered  upon  a  new  and  better 
cycle  of  her  existence  ; — one  wherein  all  the  old  wrongs  are 
to  be  righted,  all  the  old  wovmds  and  defilements  healed 
and  cleansed ;— and  so  we  take  courage  and  thank  God. 
And  no  matter  if  Monday,  coming  with  its  hard  hands  full 
of  work  and  its  stern  brow  full  of  care,  dispels  the  illusion  ! 
- — we  shall  not  be  the  worse  for  our  cherished  faith  in  the 
world's  improvability,  nor  our  momentary  persuasion  that 
the  "  good  time  coming  "  was  come.  Both  the  one  and  the 
other  will  make  us  patient  to  wait,  and  earnest  to  labor, 
for  its  advancement. 

I  spent  the  hour  before  service  with  a  volume  of  George 
Herbert's  quaint  poesy  in  my  hand, — wherein  such  Divine 
fire  often  breaks  up  through  such  a  homely  crust  of  expres- 
sion ; — and  was  helped,  possibly,  to'  a  deeper  comprehension 
than  usual  by  nature's  leafy  commentary,  lying  open  out- 
side my  window.  By  and  by,  I  descried  small  groxips  of 
country-folk,  on  foot  and  in  wagons,  slowly  wending  their 
way  churchward,  across  the  far-off  bend  of  road  before- 
mentioned  ;  Uncle  True  and  his  chair,  too,  setting  forth  on 


SHILOH.  105 

their  snail-paced  pilgrimage,  came  into  view  just  beyond 
the  garden-fence ; — so,  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a 
designedly  plain  and  simple  toilet,  I  went  down  to  the 
"  out  room,"  where  Mrs.  Prescott  and  Alice,  with  their 
bonnets  on,  were  assisting  Mrs.  Divine  to  don  hers. 

The  faces  of  the  elder  ladies  clouded  so  noticeably,  at 
sight  of  me,  that  I  was  moved  to  ask,  in  some  perplexity, 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Prescott,  shortly,  closing  her  lips 
firmly  over  the  cause  of  her  disapproval ;  which,  neverthe- 
less, seemed  to  escape  from  them,  unwittingly,  the  next 
moment.  "  I  thought  you  would  have  dressed  up  more." 

And  Mrs.  Divine  added,  "  You  wore  a  finer  gown  than 
that  to  Society,  yesteixlny." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  I,  "  if  you  think  my  attire  is  not 
worthy  of  the  occasion ;  but  I  supposed  that  the  congrega- 
tion would  be  dressed  very  plainly,  for  the  most  part,  and 
I  did  not  want  to  look  like  a  popinjay  among  respectable 
fowls." 

_ "  Umph !  there's  no  danger  of  your  outshining  Mrs. 
Danforth,  I  guess,"  said  Mrs.  Prescott,  relaxing  her  severe 
features  a  little.  "  But,  I  can  tell  you,  we  country  folks 
like  to  have  city  people  wear  their  fine  feathers  when  they 
come  among  us ;  if  they  don't,  we  suspect  they  think  we 
ain't  worth  wasting  them  on." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Prescott,  I  don't  think  God's  house  is  the 
place  to  wear  '  fine  feathers.'  " 

Here  Mrs.  Divine  took  up  the  subject  in  her  usual  crisp, 
decided  tones.  "  I  suppose,  Miss  Frost,  if  you  were  going 
to  see  Queen  Victoria,  now,  or  the  Emperor  of  Russia, 
you'd  wear  your  best  clothes,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  but, — " 

"  Never  mind  the  '  but '  just  now  ;  I  want  to  ask  you, 
first,  if  you  think  you  ought  to  show  more  respect  to  one  of 
them  earthly  rulers,  than  you  do  the  '  King  of  Kings,' — 
whose  house  AVC  take  the  Church  to  be  ?  " 
5* 


106  SIIILOII. 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  then  Christ  set  us  such  an  example 
of  plainness  and  simplicity  in  all  His  earthly  life,  that  it 
seems  fitting  for  His  followers  to  imitate  it ;  particularly 
when  they  meet  together,  to  offer  up  prayers  and  praises  in 
His  name." 

"  Now,  I  think,"  persisted  Mrs.  Divine,  "  that  Christ 
lived  and  labored  in  the  humblest  walk  of  life,  to  show  men 
that  fine  things  are  nothing  in  themselves,  since  He  could 
do  without  them ;  so  that  nobody  need  to  feel  proud  be- 
cause he  has  got  them,  nor  mean  because  he  hasn't.  I  am 
certain  that  the  Lord  likes  me  just  as  well  in  my  old- 
fashioned  gown  here,  that  I've"  worn  this  ten  years,  as  He 
does  Alice  in  her  pretty  blue  muslin,  if  my  heart  is  as  much 
set  to  obey  Him  ;  but  I  shouldn't  feel  so  sure  of  it,  if  I  had 
a  brand-new  silk  hanging  up  in  my  closet,  that  I  thought 
was  too  good  for  Him,  but  not  a  bit  too  nice  for  Mis'  Thing- 
embob's  parties.  I  guess  Solomon  wore  his  royal  robes,  and 
handsome  ones,  too,  when  he  went  up  to  praise  the  Lord  in 
the  temple  he  had  built." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Divine,  I  wish  you  could  see  some  of  the 
dresses  I  wear  to  parties,  at  home  !  I  am  sure  you  would 
agree  with  me  that  they  are  not  suitable  to  wear  at 
church." 

"  It's  very  likely  I  should.  But  did  you  ever  ask  your- 
self whether  it  was  just  right  to  have  dresses  too  fine,  or 
too  showy,  to  wear  in  God's  house  ?  The  bettermost  for 
Him,  I  say  ;  but  that  don't  prove  that  costly  finery  and 
finicky  gew*gaws  are  the  things  for  a  Christian  to  wear 
anywhere." 

"But  there  are  always  people  who  will  wear  such 
things,"  returned  I ;  "  must  they,  therefore,  wear  them 
at  church  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  I  suppose  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Divine,  after 
a  little  hesitation ;  "  perhaps  it's  one  step  toward  better 
things  for  them  to  make  up  their  minds  they  can't  flout 
them  in  the  Lord's  face.  But  that  don't  make  it  right  for 


SHILOH.  10t 

His  followers  to  have  clothes  too  fine  to  wear  in  His  courts ; 
I'm  decided  on  that."  , 

"  Still,"  I  urged,  "  custom  will  always  make  a  certain 
style  of  dress  obligatory  for  parties." 

"Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  that.  The  Christian  world 
is  stronger  than  the  fashionable  world ;  if  it  did  but  know 
it,  and  wasn't  afraid  to  stand  to  its  principles.  If  Christian 
people  always  went  to  parties  in  simple,  modest  apparel  (I 
don't  care  how  pretty  and  becoming  it  is,  if  it  keeps  inside 
the  bounds  of  simplicity  and  modesty),  you'd  soon  see  a 
change  in  custom.  The  fashionable  world  wouldn't  like  to 
see  itself  marked  out  so  plainly  as  an  enemy  to  God  and 
decency.  It  is  because  Christian  women  are  so  much  '  con- 
formed to  the  world,'  that  women  of  the  world  are  rushing 
headlong  into  such  reckless  extravagance  and  such  shame- 
less display.  As  long  as  they  know  that  wherever  they 
lead,  good  women  will  follow,  there's  nothing  to  put  any 
check  on  them." 

Mr.  Divine  now  joined  us,  with  a  quizzical  smile  on  his 
shrewd,  sensible  face.  "I've  heard  you  preaching  for  a 
good  quarter-hour,  mother,"  said  he;  "don't  you  think 
it's  about  time  to  go  over  and  let  Mr.  Taylor  take  his  turn 
at  it?" 

Half-way  to  the  church,  we  found  Uncle  True  resting 
in  the  shade  of  a  great,  gnarled  apple-tree  that  stretched 
its  sturdy  boughs,  covered  with  a  late  bloom,  over  the 
stone  wall,  and  half-way  across  the  road ; — his  face  beaming 
with  mild  contentment  and  good-humor  as  he  returned  the 
greetings  of  passers  by ;  all  of  whom  addressed  him  with 
a  certain  deferential  cordiality,  partly  due  to  his  infirmity, 
and  partly  to  the  simple,  genuine  character  of  the  man.  I 
stopped  to  speak  with  him, — I"am  acquiring  a  relish  for  the 
old  man's  cheerful,  mellow  philosophies,  with  here  and 
there  a  vein  of  something  like  poetiy  in  them.  I  am  get- 
ting to  call  him  "  Uncle  True,"  too ; — the  influence  of  con- 
stant example  is  so  strong,  and  the'  hearty,  homely  life  of 
Shiloh  so  insidiously  destructive  of  formalities. 


108  SHILOH. 

"  How  lovely  it  is  !  "  I  exclaimed,  glancing  around  at 
the  fresh,  shining  landscape.  "  But  I  miss  one  thing, — the 
bells.  I  caught  myself  singing  a  snatch  of  Robinson  Cru- 
soe's aong  this  morning, — 

— The  sound  of  the  church-going  bell 
These  valleys  and  rocks  never  heard  ; — 

yet  how  silvery  sweet  and  clear  the  tones  would  flow  out 
over  these  meadows  and  linger  among  these  hills  !  St. 
Jude's  ought  to  have  a  bell." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Uncle  True,  reflectively ; 
"  I  b'lieve  I  like  the  Sunday  stillness  and  the  birds'  singin' 
the  best.  And  I  ain't  so  lazy,  nor  so  forgetful,  that  I  want 
a  bell  to  tell  me  when  it's  time  to  go  to  church,  no  more'n 
I  do  to  let  me  know  when  to  go  to  work  Monday  mornin'. 
But  hark  !  do  you  hear  that !  " 

A  faint,  sweet  bell-echo  pervaded  the  air ;  not  louder 
nor  more  distinct  in  one  quarter  than  another ;  seeming  to 
have  fallen  from  the  sky,  rather  than  to  have  arisen  from 
the  earth,  so  difficult  was  it  to  associate  its  soft,  ethereal 
melody  with  any  lower  origin. 

"  That's  the  up-town  bell,"  continued  Uncle  True ; 
"  seems  to  me  it  sounds  a  good  deal  pootier  than  if  'twas 
nearer.  You  can  allers  hear  it  like  that  when  the  air  is 
clear,  and  the  wind  right — if  you  listen  for  it.  There's  a 
good  many  fine  things  you've  allers  got  to  listen  for,  if  you 
hear  'em  at  all ; — there's  a  bee  hummin'  in  that  clover-head 
yonder ;  you  can't  hear  it  when  you're  talkin' ;  but  if  you 
jest  keep  still  a  minute  "  (Uncle  True  made  a  little  pause) 
"  you  can  hear  it  as  plain  as  a  church-bell,  and  I  think  it's 
jest  as  pooty  a  noise, — leastways,  it  tells  me  more." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  I,  leaning  my  elbow  on  the  stone-wall, 
covered  with  greenish-gray  lichens,  "  I  should  like  to  know 
what  it  tells  you." 

"  Wall,  in  the  fust  place,  it  shows  me  that  honey's  to 
be  got  out  o'  all  the  flowers,  even  the  leetlest  and  home- 


SHILOH.  109 

liest.  The  bee  gets  it  in  the  onlikliest  places,  you  see ;  he 
don't  turn  up  his  nose  at  a  mullein  stalk  no  more'n  he  does 
at  a  garden  pink,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  Lord  had 
put  jest  as  much  honey  in  one  as  t'other.  But  if  he  was  a 
bee  with  an  aristocratic  turn  o'  mind,  and  wouldn't  look 
for  honey  anywheres  but  in  garden  pinks  and  damask 
roses,  it's  my  opinion  that  he'd  go  hum'  to  his  hive  empty- 
handed,  the  biggest  part  o'  the  time.  And  I  guess  the 
Lord  has  put  abeout  as  much  honey  in  one  man's  road  as 
another's  ;  if  he  only  knew  how  to  look  for  it,  and  didn't 
despise  mullein  stalks.  Then,  the  bee  shows  me  that  it's  a 
man's  business  to  hive  up  honey, — not  jest  to  go  round 
amusiu'  himself  with  the  flowers,  and  takin'  only  what 
tastes  good  and  what  he  can  eat  at  the  time ;  but  to  store 
it  up  against  the  winter  of  old  age  and  trouble, — I  mean 
the  honey  of  wisdom,  mama,  that  begins  in  the  fear  of  God. 
And,  besides  all  that,  the  bee  shows  me  that  a  man  should 
go  to  his  honest  day's  work  with  a  joyful  sperit,  singin' 
and  rnakin'  melody  in  his  heart :  and  not  be  a  goin'  round 
with  a  sour  face  and  a  grumblin'  tongue  and  a  cross- 
grained  temper,  jest  as  if  he  thought  the  Lord  that  made 
him  didn't  know  what  was  good  for  him.  But  it's  time 
for  me  to  jog  along,  inarm, — for  this  old  chair  and  I 
haven't  been  late  to  church,  since  we  took  to  goin'  thar  to- 
gether,— and  we  shouldn't  like  to  begin  now; — though  to 
be  sure,  people  that's  got  legs,  and  horses,  to  git  'em  thar, 
don't  seem  to  mind  bein'  late  much." 

"  Thank  you*"  said  I,  as  he  twisted  himself  out  of  his 
chair,  "  I  suspect  you  have  taught  me  as  good  a  lesson  as 
any  I  shall  get  at  church." 

Uncle  True  stopped  in  the  act  of  dragging  his  foot  after 
the  step  he  had  caused  his '  chair  to  make,  and  looked  at 
me  gravely.  "  No,  marrn,  you  don't  quite  mean  that,  I 
guess.  For,  though  the  Lord's  works  do  preach  pooty 
good  sermons  to  them  that's  got  ears  to  hear,  you'll  hear 
His  Word  in  the  church,  and  that's  what  helps  us  to  under- 


110  SIIILOH. 

stand  the  works.     People  that  don't  know  the  Word,  are 
apt  to  make  mistakes  in  rcadin'  the  works  —  more's  the 


There  was  a  buzzing  human  swarm  about  the  church 
steps,  —  hale,  weather-browned  farmers,  exchanging  re- 
marks about  the  weather  and  the  crops,  —  bashful  youths, 
awkward  and  uncomfortable  iif  the  unwonted  restraints  of 
Sunday  garments,  —  and  boys,  who  gave  me  a  vague  im- 
pression of  being  all  eyes,  mouths,  and  pantaloons  pockets  ; 
all  of  whom  stared  at  me  in  a  way  to  indicate  that  a 
strange  face  was  a  novelty  in  their  experience.  The  small 
vestibule  was  filled  with  a  varying  company  of  matrons 
and  maidens  ;  each  comer  lingering  there,  a  few  moments, 
to  exchange  greetings  and.  set  to  rights  garments  and 
tresses  disordered  by  the  breeze.  Mrs.  Prescott  awaited 
me  among  them. 

The  interior  of  the  church,  by  reason  of  the  preposter- 
ous size  and  number  of  its  uncurtained,  unblinded  win- 
dows, gave  me  an  odd  impression  of  a  spiritual  hothouse, 
where  moral  cuttings  and  seedlings  were  to  be  carefully 
nurtured  under  glass  ;  while  the  light  thus  freely  admitted, 
and  everywhere  reflected  from  white  walls  and  woodwork, 
dazzled  and  blinded  me  to  a  painful  degree.  All  addition- 
al details,  —  when  I  could  look  for  them,  —  were  comprised 
in  a  small  gallery,  perched  aloft  at  the  rear  end  of  the 
building,  over  the  vestibule  ;  a  box  of  a  pulpit  against  the 
opposite,  wall  ;  a  small  communion-table  in  front  of  it  ;  and 
thirty  or  forty  narrow,  high-backed  pews,  'strongly  sugges- 
tive of  penitential  observances. 

Mr.  Taylor  soon  entered  the  chancel.  I  saw  a  tall,  thin, 
bent  form,  a  pale  face,  —  not  of  a  decidedly  intellectual  typo, 
but  with  some  clear,  fine  lines  in  it,  —  deep-set  blue  eyes,  full 
of  a  quick  sensibility,  and  small,  nervous  looking  hands.  I 
discerned  that  he  brought  to  his  work  genuine  enthusiasm, 
thorough  conscientiousness,  inconsiderate  impulse,  ready 
sympathies,  morbid  sensitiveness,  activity  verging  on  rest- 


6IIILOH.  Ill 

lessness,  little  tact,  and  such  culture  as  circumstances  had 
permitted.  A  man  whose  enthusiasm  would  often  outrun 
his  judgment ;  who  would  never,  except  by  a  miracle,  escape 
any  wayside  thorn, — but  would  get  his  wound  from  each, 
and  give  his  drop  of  blood  in  return ; — yet  whose  true  cour- 
age, earnestness,  and  self-devotion,  could  not  fail  to  win  re- 
cognition and  respect,  and  to  gather  in  sheaves  to  the  Lord 
of  the  harvest. 

It  was  plain  that  some  nervousness  beset  him,  at  first. 
The  congregation  was  not  of  the  class  to  which  he  had  been 
best  accustomed  in  his  lay-missionary  work  among  the  city's 
lower  life-strata.  These  sturdy,  hard-featured,  and  close- 
fisted  New  England  farmers  looked  much  too  independent 
and  critical ;  they  had  far  more  the  appearance  of  judges 
sitting  on  his  merits,  than  of  disciples  waiting  to  be  taught. 
His  voice  shook  slightly,  therefore,  as  he  began  the  service ; 
but  nothing  more  composing  can  be  conceived  of,  I  think, 
than  its  opening, — the  few  solemn  sentences  from  Holy 
Writ,  the  Exhortation,  touching  the  speaker's  own  heart  as 
nearly  as  any  other,  the  Confession,  when,  losing  the  faces 
and  eyes  of  the  congregation,  he  feels  his  voice  and  heart 
buoyed  up  by  the  swelling  undertone  of  their  voices  and 
prayers.  His  tones  soon  steadied  themselves,  though  he 
still  read  with  a  rapidity  of  utterance  that  it  took  me  some 
little  time  to  set  down  as  habitual. 

MALA..  How  dreadfully  thin  he  is !  He  must  have  put 
himself  on  a  course  of  semi-starvation,  to  be  ready  for  what- 
ever pinchings  and  sacrifices  are  involved  in  Shiloh's  hard- 
raised  four  hundred  dollars ! 

BONA.  There  is  a  worse  semi-starvation  than  that  of  the 
body,  even  that  of  the  soul.  They  who  deny  themselves 
the  spiritual  nutriment  of  the  Church's  praises  and  prayers, 
while  they  indulge  in  sarcastic  reflections  on  minister  or 
congregation,  will  be  likely  to  experience  its  effects,  in  the 
inevitable  attenuation  of  their  religious  life  and  growth. 

I  (recalling  my  mind  to  the  service,  with  an  effort}.  "  As 


112  SIIILOH. 

it  was  in  the  beginning,  is  now,  and  ever  shall  be,  world 
without  end." 

MB.  TAYLOR.  Here  beginneth  the  sixteenth  chapter 
of- 

MALA  (suddenly).  Bless  me !  there  is  Mrs.  Danforth, 
diamonds  and  all !  Evidently,  she  thinks  it  is  proper  to 
wear  one's  bettermost  (as  Mrs.  Divine  phrases  it)  at  church. 
What  a  showy  silk !  what  exquisite  lace !  what  a  sunset- 
cloud  of  a  bonnet ! 

I  (meditatively).  I  wonder  whether  Mrs.  Divine  or  I 
was  right  about  the  Sunday  garb  !  It  is  one  of  those  ques- 
tions where  there  is  so  much  to  be  said  on  both  sides,  that 
one  gets  puzzled. 

First,  there  is  the  human  phase  of  it — Mrs.  Prcscott's 
notion  that  these  people  would  consider  my  studied  plain- 
ness of  attire  a  slight  to  them.  If  the  Queen  of  England 
came  to  visit  me  in  the  extremest  plainness  of  apparel  pos- 
sible to  her,  I  wonder  whether  it  would  strike  me  as  a  dis- 
courtesy, or  a  kind  attempt  to  spare  my  feelings  !  But  why 
should  her  splendor  hurt  my  feelings  !  Does  it  not  argue 
some  meanness  of  spirit  in  me,  to  be  either  dazzled  or  mor- 
tified by  her  rich  array  ? — '  is  not  the  body  more  than  the 
raiment  ? '  I  know  she  is  a  queen,  and  has  queenly  attire ; 
would  it  not  be  paying  me  a  more  delicate  compliment  to 
visit  me  in  the  same  dress  in  which  she  would  visit  a  prince  ? 
Is  there  any  rudeness  quite  so  rude  as  to  make  it  evident  to 
your  fellow-mortal  that  you  are  trying  to  let  yourself  down 
to  what  you  are  pleased  t6  consider  his  lower  level  ?  and 
does  a  man  ever  secretly  attach  so  much  importance  to 
social  advantage,  as  when  he  is  making  an  ostentatious 
attempt  to  prove  that  he  forgets  it  ? 

Then,  there  is  the  heavenly  phase.  Will  God  feel  His 
courts  to  be  duly  honored  by  less  careful  and  costly  toilets 
than  are  made  for  the  courts  of  fashion  ?  Would  it  not  be 
only  a  surface  humility  that  flaunts  in  satins  and  jewels  all 
the  week,  and  goes  to  church  in  drab  serge  on  Sundays  ? 


SHILOH.  113 

Or  did  Mrs.  Divine  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  when  she  de- 
clared that  a  Christian  had  no  right  to  finer  clothes  than 
could  be  fitly  worn  in  God's  house  ? 

Would  the  best  motive  ever  justify  the  showy  splendor? 
I  will  suppose  Mrs.  Danforth  putting  on  her  diamonds,  and 
her  point  lace,  without  a  thought  of  human  observation, 
but  with  a  sincere  desire  to  honor  God's  house  with  the 
best  that  she  has ; — but  then  how  could  she  sit  under  ap- 
peals for  money  to  build  churches  and  schools,  and  fit  out 
missionaries,  with  the  price  of  a  church  hanging  in  her  ears, 
a  Sunday  School  library  around  her  neck,  and  a  Mission- 
ary's salary  on  each  finger !  Would  she  not  suspect  that 
there  were  better  ways  of  honoring  God  with  her  wealth 
than  by  lavishing  it  on  her  personal  "adornment  ? 

MR.  TAYLOR.  Here  entleth  the  First  Lesson. 

Box  A.  And  you  have  not  heard  a  word  of  it. 

MALA.  IVever  mind ;  you  were  trying  to  settle  a  question 
of  right. 

Box  A  (very  gravely).  But  God's  house,  and  His  time  of 
worship,  are  not  the  place  and  time  for  settling  questions. 
Devotion  and  attention  are  essential  to  a  right  use  of  those 
privileges. 

I.  But,  dear  Bona,  when  such  a  subject  gets  into  my 
head,  it  is  so  hard  to  get  it  out,  even  in  church ! 

BOXA.  There  is  always  the  resource  of  prayer.  But  do 
listen ! 

I  did  listen  to,  and  join  in,  the  Te  Deum, — that  grand, 
wonderful  Hymn,  whose  certain  origin  is  lost  in  the  shad- 
ows of  primitive  time ;  and  which  seems  to  have  so  little 
of  human  work  in  its  majestic,  comprehensive,  ordered 
march  of  joyful  praise,  pure  doctrine,  and  fervent  prayer, 
that  I  am  fain  to  believe  it  came  straight  from  the  Holy 
Spirit,  through  the  hands  of  some  devout,  meek  man,  who, 
feeling  how  little  he  had  to  do  with  it,  dared  not  stamp  it 
with  his  name ! 

The  Canticles  were  read,  not  sung.     During  the  Jubi- 


114  SIIILOH. 

late,  Mala's  irreverence  broke  forth  again, — "  Do  see  that 
bonnet !  If  it  is  not  the  identical  one  that  Hani's  wife  wore 
into  the  ark,  what  museum  of  dead  and  buried  fashions  was 
it  fished  out  of?" 

My  amused  eyes  lingered  involuntarily  among  the 
quaint  details  of  the  ancient  structure, — an  awe-inspiring 
poke,  with  a  kind  of  full  blown  cabbage-rose  on  one  side, 
and  a  mammoth  bow  on  top.  Notwithstanding  the  wear- 
er's face  was  invisible,  the  angular  outlines  of  her  tall  form, 
and  several  spasmodic  jerks  of  the  bonnet — which  gave  me 
an  odd  impression  that  that  piece  of  head-gear,  by  reason  of 
extreme  old  age,  had  itself  taken  to  shaking  with  paralysis 
— enabled  me  to  recognize  Aunt  Vin. 

Mala  went  on.  "  I  wonder  if  she  says  her  prayers  ai 
she  talks  !  In  that  case,  she  must  put  up  some  curious  pe 
titions  to  the  Throne  of  Grace  !  " 

I  very  nearly  laughed  at  the  bare  supposition. 

BONA  (severely).  Have  you  any  consciousness  whatever 
that  you  are  saying  the  Creed  ? 

I  (very  humbly).  "  I  believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins." 

Never  were  those  words  so  sweet  to  me  !  Coming  in  the 
midst  of  my  repeated  failures  to  keep  my  thoughts  from 
wandering,  they  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  the  express 
need  of  the  moment;  as  do  so  many  utterances  of  the 
Liturgy  to  humbled,  burdened  souls  everywhere  ;  which,- 
nevertheless,  have  given  freely  of  their  help  and  witness 
to  thousands  before  ;  and,  instead  of  losing  anything,  have 
constantly  grown  richer  thereby.  And  a  comfortable  ar- 
ticle of  belief  is  "  the  forgiveness  of  sins !  "  Without  it, 
how  the  soul  would  tremble  in  view  of  the  "  resurrection 
of  the  body,  and  the  life  everlasting  ! " 

MR.  TAYLOR.  "  The  Lord  be  with  you." 

I  gave  the  necessary  response  with  hearty  emphasis.  "  If 
Mr.  Taylor's  mind  is  as  prone  to  wander  as  mine,"  I  said  to 
myself,  "how  cheering  it  must  be  to  him  to  hear  the  whole 
congregation  distinctly  and  devoutly  ejaculate,  '  And  with 


SHILOII.  115 

• 

thy  spirit ! ' '  The  people  who  would  be  blessed  with  the 
most  solemn,  earnest,  and  effective  ministrations  from  desk 
and  pulpit,  must  not  fail  to  give  their  clergyman  the  sup- 
port of  their  fervent,  effectual  prayers  in  his  behalf; — 
"  That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again  to  the 
fountain." 

During  the  prayers  Mala's  fertile  mind  suggested  an- 
other distraction.  "  I  wonder,"  said  she,  "  if  Major  Bur- 
cham  is  here,  and  if  he  answers  Aunt  Vin's  very  flattering 
description." 

I  darted  a  quick  glance  toward  the  corner  where  Mrs. 
Burcham  sat,  and  beheld  the  "  porpoise-looking  man  "  in' 
question, — Aunt  Vin  meant  pompous,  doubtless,  but  some 
of  her  misses  ai'e  capital  hits,  and  I  thought  "  porpoise " 
the  better  word.  ^  Fancy  a  round,  corpulent,  oleaginous 
figure ;  with  its  head  held  very  high  and  its  hair  brushed 
straight  up ;  looking  as  if  it  had  just  jumped  out  of  a  sun- 
ny sea  of  self-complacency,  all  dripping,  and  would  imme- 
diately plunge  back  again, — and  there  you  have  Major  Bur- 
cham. 

MR.  TAYLOR.  "O  God,  the  Father  of  Heaven,  have 
mercy  upon  us,  miserable  sinners." 

I  echoed  the  petition  with  a  fervency  of  beseeching 
which  might  not  have  been  too  dearly  bought,  even  with 
that  moment  of  inattention.  We  are  so  prone  to  forget, 
in  our  guarded,  upright  moments,  what  miserable  sinners 
we  are ! 

When  the  Psalm  in  metre  was  announced,  so  strange 
and  unexpected  a  sound  came  from  the  perched-up  gallery, 
that  I  was  plunged  into  the  darkest  depths  of  bewilder- 
ment ;  and  it  was  not  till  near  the  close  of  the  second  verse 
that  I  was  able  to  identify  it  (inevitably  smiling,  as  I  did  so) 
as  proceeding  from  an  accordeon.  "  Well,  why  not  ?  "  I  asked 
myself,  the  next  moment,  "  since  many  a  rusty-sinewed  fid- 
dle, and  growling  bass-viol,  has  led  off  in  the  song  of  praise ; 
and  the  melodeon — favorite  instrument  of  feeble  churches 
— is  only  an  accordeon  on  a  large  scale." 


116  SHILOH. 

• 

This  novel  and  incapable  accompaniment  was  played 
with  a  delicacy  of  touch  and  truth  of  feeling,  that  aston- 
ished me ;  and  went  far  to  justify  its  use.  With  it  rose  a 
clear,  fresh  voice  ;  singing  as  a  bird  sings ;  without  artistic 
culture,  but  with  an  airy  sweetness,  that  had  its  own  pecu- 
liar charm.  It  was  not  powerful, — an  excessively  harsh 
alto  and  a  direfully  shrill  tenor  did  their  best  to  cover  it 
up ;  but  the  pure  quality  of  its  tones  could  not  be  hidden, 
any  more  than  the  small,  sweet  strains  of  a  bird  can  be 
drowned  by  all  the  cackle  and  clamor  of  a  barnyard.  I 
looked  up  for  the  singer.  Mrs.  Prescott  saw  the  look  and 
•intei'preted  it. 

"  That's  Ruth  Winnot,"  whispered  she,  with  a  degree 
of  pride ;  "  hasn't  she  got  a  nice  voice  ?  " 


XI. 

THE    SEEMOK. 

)ETWEEN  the  close  of  the  Ante-Communion 
service  and  the  singing  of  the  Hymn,  I  had 
a  brief  opportunity  to  give  myself  a  moral 
shaking  up,  and  to  set  myself  deliberately  to 
listen  to  the  sermon.  Of  course,  I  did  not  ex- 
pect an  intellectual  treat, — I  knew  that  Mr. 
Taylor  made  no  pretensions  to  oratory  or  erudi- 
tion ;  but  I  have  found,  after  some  years  of  pa- 
tient listening  to  all  sorts  of  sermons,  that  I  never  yet  gave 
my  whole,  prayerful  attention  to  any,  even  the  poorest  and 
plainest,  without  getting  from  it  something  that  I  should 
have  regretted  to  lose.  It  might  be  some  subtle*  touch  of 
human  kinship,  awakening  new  sympathies  in  my  heart ;  or 
a  bit  of  homely  wisdom,  quick  with  an  endless  progeny  of 
application ;  or  an  isolated  clause  of  a  sentence,  stirring  with- 
in me  a  train  of  heavenward  thought  that  made  me  feel,  for 
some  blissful  moments,  as  if  I  had  talked  face  to  face  with 
God  ;  or  perhaps,  a  hitherto  unheeded  text  of  Scripture  fall- 
ing on  my  ear  with  sudden  opulence  and  profundity  of 
spiritual  meaning.  So  I  have  come  to  think  that  God  never 
fails  to  bless  the  seed  of  the  Gospel — however  unskilfully 
sown — with  a  rich  germination  of  spiritual  help,  to  all  who 
listen  to  His  ministers  reverently  and  teachably,  as  to 
"  deputies  of  Christ  for  the  reducing  of  man  to  the  obedi- 
ence of  God." 

Mr.   Taylor's  sermon  was   pointed  and  vivified   by  a 


118  SIIILOII. 

warm  earnestness  of  manner,  and  a  directness  of  purpose, 
that  made  it  very  effective,  in  its  way.  It  was  no  fine 
speculation  of  the  brain,  but  a  drop  of  life-blood  from  the 
heart.  It  was  enriched  with  wisdom  gathered  from  the 
mistakes,  conflicts  and  defeats  of  his  own  life,  and  carefully 
hived  for  the  benefit  of  his  fellows ;  of  whose  longings  after 
holiness  and  struggles  toward  right,  as  well  as  of  their  dis- 
couraging failures  and  lapses  into  evil,  he  knew  something 
through  fellowship,  not  less  than  observation ;  in  virtue  of 
which  knowledge  he  was  irresistibly  moved  to  help  and  to 
teach  them.  His  sentences  were  commonplace  enough  in 
themselves,  but  they  seemed  to  have  imbibed  a  rich  warmth 
and  fragrance  from  having  been  so  thoroughly  steeped  in 
the  enthusiasm  and  the  tenderness  of  his  heart.  I  had  a 
curious  intuition,  as.  I  listened,  why  God  had  called  him  into 
His  service  just  as  he  was,  with  his  culture  and  his  want  of 
culture,  his  zeal  and  his  unpracticalness,  his  strength  and 
his  weakness.  A  man  with  less  infirmity  to  contend  with 
in  himself,  would  not  have  comprehended  so  clearly  the 
necessities  of  others  ;  and  one  of  less  sanguine  and  hopeful 
temperament  would  never  haw  labored  for  their  reforma- 
tion with  feuch  entii'e  confidence  in  his  ultimate  success.  If 
it  was  necessary  for  our  Lord  to  take  upon  Him  human 
flesh,  with  the  pains,  weaknesses,  and  temptations  belong- 
ing thereto,  for  the  work  of  atonement ;  it  is  not  strange 
that  those  whom  He  calls  to  the  work  of  teaching  in  His 
name,  should  be  men  of  like  passions  and  infirmities  with 
ourselves. 

Not  that  I  would,  for  a  moment,  be  supposed  to  under- 
value, or  discourage  the  employment  of,  whatever  good  gifts 
of  mind  or  manner  God  vouchsafes  to  man,  in  His  special 
service.  If,  in  the  Christian  life,  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent 
be  fitly  conjoined  with  the  harmlessness  of  the  dove ;  why, 
in  Christian  teaching,  need  one  hesitate  to  employ  the  finest 
art  of  rhetoric,  the  loveliest  grace  of  fancy,  the  subtlest  har- 
monies of  elocution,  in  aid  of  the  depth,  the  simplicity,  and 


_  SHILOII.  119 

the  endless  adaptation  of  the  Gospel  ?  Not  that  the  Word 
shall  return  unto  Him  void  without  these  helps,  since  the 
power  of  the  Spirit  of  God  is  in  it ;  but  the  power  of  the 
spirit  of  love  in  man  should  surely  keep  him  from  the  in- 
dolence, or  the  impertinence,  of  offering  unto  the  Lord  of 
that  which  has  cost  him  nothing — nothing  of  that  careful 
labor  and  exquisite  finish  which  shows  that  the  heart  of 
the  worker  was  in  his  work  ! 

Just  once  during  the  sermon,  my  attention  wandered. 
Major  Burcham  was  fast  asleep  in  his  pew,  with  his  mouth 
hospitably  wide  open;  into  which  innocent-minded  flies 
strayed  occasionally,  and  were  instantly  caught  by  the 
quick,  involuntary  closing  of  his  powerful  jaws;  to  his — 
and,  no  doubt,  their — extreme  disgust.  The  spectacle  was 
not  exactly  edifying,  as  a  smothered  laugh  from  the  gallery 
attested. 

When  the  service  was  over,  a  little  knot  of  people 
gathered  near  the  chancel  to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Taylor, 
foremost  of  whom  was  Major  Burcham.  His  deep,  im- 
portant tones,  swelling  above  the  hum  and  bustle  of  the 
departing  congregation,  reached  me  where  I  stood,  and 
made  me  acquainted  with  his  peculiarities  of  speech ;  name- 
ly, a  frequent  substitution  of  some  laggard  word  in  place  of 
the  half-spoken  one  that  came  more  quickly  to  hand,  and 
an  emphatic,  sonorous  repetition  of  commonplace  phrases, 
as  if  to  make  up  by  sound  for  lack  of  substance. 

"  I  am  de — charmed  to  see  you,  sir,"  I  heard  him  say- 
ing,— "  and  I  hope  we  shall  have  the  benefit  of  your  la — 
ministrations  for  some  time.  You  are  aware,  I  suppose, 
that  Shiloh  is  rather  a  poor  place  to  come  to,  rather  a  poor 
place ; — I  really  couldn't  ad — recommend  you  to  take  up 
with  the  parish,  if  you've  anything  better  in  view ;  but  if 
you're  not  afraid  to  try,  we  will  do  our  best,  sir ;  we  will  do 
our  best." 

I  waited  for  no  more,  but  went  out  with  a  foolish  impa- 
tience in  my  heart.  In  the  vestibule,  I  came  face  to  face 


120  SIIILOH. 

with  Mrs.  Danforth.  She  put  out  her  hand  in  her  usual 
careless,  condescending  way ;  "  Good  morning,  Miss  Frost, 
—how  do  you  like  him  ?  " 

"Who — Mr.  Taylor?  I  do  not  know  him  yet,  Mrs. 
Danforth." 

"  I  was  not  aware  you  were  such  a  purist !  I  mean, 
how  do  you  like  him  as  a  clergyman  ?  " 

"  I  like  all  clergymen — in  the  abstract." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Taylor  as  a  specimen 
of  the  concrete  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  much  about  him ;  I  was  thinking 
of  his  sermon." 

"  Nous  arrivons"  said  she,  arching  her  brows ;  "  what 
did  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  thought  my  life  would  be  the  better  for  an  abund- 
ant interfusion  of  its  spirit." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  vexation,  partly  comic,  partly 
real. 

"  I  never  knew  a  case  of  perseverance  so  ill-rewarded," 
said  she.  "  However,  I  will  be  as  frank  as  you  are  non- 
committal, and — " 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  interrupting  you,  but  I  cannot  let 
that  slander  pass  unnoticed.  I  thought  the  best  compli- 
ment to  be  paid  to  any  sermon,  was  to  bring  its  teaching 
home  to  one's  own  heart  and  life." 

"  Bless  us  !  how  pleasant !  "  exclaimed  she,  shrugging 
her  shoulders.  "  We  glorify  ourselves,  and  fire  sly  shots 
at  our  irreverent  neighbors,  simultaneously.  But  they  do 
not  hit  me — this  time.  I  was  about  to  say  that  I  liked  Mr. 
Taylor  a  great  deal  better  than  I  expected." 

"  If  I  knew  the  character  of  your  expectation,  I  could 
better  appreciate  the  compliment." 

"Adieu!"  she  exclaimed,  with. humorous  abruptness, 
"  I  shall  take'  refuge  in  flight.  Good  morning,  Miss  Rust," 
(addressing  Aunt  Vin,  who  approached  at  that  moment), 
"  I  advise  you  to  keep  out  of  Miss  Frost's  way ;  she  is  in  a 


SHILOH.  121 

mood  compounded  of  the  Sphinx  and  the  Cynic,  and  you'll 
come  off  second  best — as  I  go." 

But  Aunt  Yin  stopped  her.  "  I  hope,  Mis'  Danforth, 
that  you're  a  coming  to  the  obsequious  this  afternoon ;  I  am 
sure  the  family  would  take  it  as  a  tribune  of  respect." 

Mrs.  Danforth  looked  utterly  bewildered. 

"  Maggie  Warren  is  to  be  buried  this  afternoon,"  I  ex- 
plained. "  A  young  .  girl  of  this  neighborhood,  who  died 
on  Thursday  morning  last.  The  funeral  services  are  to  be 
held  in  this  church,  at  half-past  one.  Miss  Rust  invites 
you  to  attend." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  No,  I  thank  you  ;  it  is  not  the  city  cus- 
tom to  attend  funerals  of  people  you  don't  know.  By  the 
way,  what  is  the  hour  of  afternoon  service?  " 

"  One  o'clock,"  replied  I.  "  And  it  is  the  country  cus- 
tom, Mrs.  Danforth,  to  hold  funerals  in  the  place  of  the  af- 
ternoon service,  when  they  can  conveniently  be  arranged 
to  take  place  on  Sunday." 

"  Ah,  I  see, — a  labor-saving  institution,  and  thoroughly 
— New  Anglican  !  But  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  after- 
noon service  is  always  at  one  o'clock !  " 

"Assuredly." 

Mrs.  Danforth  held  up  her  hands  with  a  laughable  air 
of  consternation.  "Two  sermons,  with  only  an  hour  be- 
tween !  my  moral  digestion  is  not  equal  to  that !  I  should 
get  the  heads  of  the  afternoon  discourse  tacked  on  to  the 
tail  of  the  morning  preachment,  and  the  morning  applica- 
tion unlawfully  joined  to  the  afternoo\i  text ;  and  endless 
bewilderment  and  error  would  be  the  inevitable  result. 
Put  me  down  for  a  half-day  Christian — in  Shiloh, — Miss 
Rust." 

"  I  haven't  got  anything  to  do  with  putting  anybody 
down.  I  expect  the  Lord  attends  to  that  business  Himself," 
returned  Aunt  Yin,  rather  shortly ;  internally  displeased  at 
the  implied  ridicule  of  customs  endeared  to  her  by  long  fa- 
miliarity. "  And  if  you  repine  that  an  hour  and  a  half  out 
6 


122  SIIILOH. 

of  His  holy  day  is  enough  to  give  Him,  it  isn't  my  loca- 
tion to  calculate  whether  it's  a  seventh  or  a  seventeenth  of 
your  time." 

"My  peccadilloes  are  getting  hard  measure  between 
you,"  replied  Mrs.  Danforth,  with  imperturbable  good  hu- 
mor ;  "  Miss  Rust  has  even  more  of  the  Cynic  than  the 
Sphinx  about  her.  Good-bye."  And  her  diamonds  flashed 
out  into  the  sunshine. 

"  It's  easy  to  see  what  she's  '  confounded  of,' "  said  Aunt 
Yin,  looking  after  her,  with  two  or  three  jerks  of  extreme 
disapproval, — "  I  guess  'twouldn't  take  a  Styx  to  put  her 
together,  nor  a  Clinic  to  pull  her  to  pieces  !  Are  you  go- 
ing to  the  house  before  the  people  begin  to  dissemble,  Miss 
Frost  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  promised  Mrs.  Warren  that  I  would  bring 
fresh  flowers  for  Maggie ;  but  I  must  go  over  to  Mrs.  Di- 
vine's and  get  them.  Tell  her,  please,  that  I  will  be  there 
in  good  time." 

I  passed  Uncle  True  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  He  looked 
up  at  me  with  a  beaming  face.  "  That's  what  I  call  a  good 
sermon,"  said  he, — "  a  sermon  with  the  breath  of  life  in  it. 
I've  heard  'em  that  sounded  just  as  a  case  of  bugs  and  but- 
terflies, with  pins  stuck  through  'em,  looks ; — a  bit  here  and 
a  bit  there,  scraped  together  out  o'  books  and  papers,  with- 
out no  connection,  nor  no  heart  and  soul  in  'em  anywheres. 
You  feel  pooty  sure  the  preacher  didn't  write  'em  with  a 
tear  in  his  eye,  nor  a  prayer  in  his  heart." 

Mrs.  Prescott  brought  Mr.  Taylor  home  to  lunch  witli 
her,  and  engaged  him  in  a  brisk  conversation  at  table.  It 
is  rare  to  see  a  man  so  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  showing 
it  in  every  word  and  movement.  His  whole  soul  was  in  his 
work,  and  all  his  talk  tended  thitherward ;  no  matter  what 
other  topic  might  be  introduced,  he  gave  it  but  a  glance, 
and  immediately  recurred  to  the  one  absorbing  idea, — fre- 
quently overlooking  the  necessity,  or  expediency,  of  using 
tact  in  the  transition.  His  experience  and  success,  as 


SHILOH.  123 

a  lay-missionary,  had  been  just  enough  to  rouse  his  enthusi- 
asm and  engage  his  affections  in  the  Church's  work :  and 
now  that  he  had  been  duly  furnished  with  the  requisite  intel- 
lectual weapons,  and  received  the  grace  of  ordination,  he 
felt  himself  stronger  than  all  the  powers  of  evil,  human  and 
spiritual,  combined.  He  believed,  as  many  a_  tyro  in  the 
ministry  has  done  before  him, — and  as  many  more  may 
do,  I  trust,  in  years  to  come,  since  a  man  had  better  never 
have  been  born  than  to  have  been  born  without  a  gen- 
erous hope  and  confidence  in  the  world's  amendment,  and 
in  his  power  to  help  it  forward; — he  believed,  I  say,  that 
he  brought  to  his  profession  some  more  vital  force,  some 
deeper  spiritual  insight,  some  Diviner  fire,  than  his  pre- 
decessors ;  by  which  the  world,  old  and  reprobate  though 
it  be,  must  of  necessity  be  intenerated  and  overcome,  and 
its  long  partnership  in  iniquity  with  the  Spirit  of  Evil  be 
dissolved.  I  gazed  at  him  with  a  sorrowful  pity.  It 
needed  no  seer  to  discern  that  that  bitterest  form  of 
disappointment — which  steals  upon  the  heart  in  the  fair 
disguise  of  a  long  and  fondly  cherished  purpose,  at  last 
accomplished — was  surely  coming  to  him,  sooner  or  later, 
and  would  wring  his  soul  with  sharpest  anguish  and  dis- 
couragement. Not  so  easily  was  the  old  Adam  to  be 
overcome  by  the  new  Melancthon ! 

I  thought  it  a  noteworthy  expression  of  his  character 
that,  before  luncheon  was  over,  he  was  engaged  in  a  warm 
discussion  with  Mrs.  Divine,  touching  some  matters,  of  cere- 
monial, things  about  which  she  holds  very  old-fashioned 
and  decided  opinions;  upon  some  one  of  which,  coming  ac- 
cidentally to  the  surface  of  the  conversation,  Mr.  Taylor 
pounced  with  zealous  disapproval,  and  which  she  defended 
with  her  usual  adroitness  and  homely  sense.  In  the  height 
of  the  discussion,  I  left  them  for  the  house  of  mourning. 


XII. 


WOUNDS    AND    BALMS. 

[HEN  I  reached  the  little  gray  house  of  the 
Warrens,  to  which  the  presence  of  Death 
seemed  to  have  imparted  a  certain  dignity 
as  well  as  sombreness,  I  found  Aunt  Vin  in 
the  doorway,  watching  for  the  undertaker,  in 
a  state  of  extreme  dissatisfaction. 

"If  there's  anything  that  aspirates  me," 
she  said,  severely,  "  it's  to  have  people  so 
desultory  about  getting  ready  for  funeral  and  wedding 
cerements.  Pm  always  punctuous,  and  I  don't  see  why 
other  people  can't  be." 

Mrs.  Warren  was  standing  by  her  dead  daughter,  hold- 
ing Jack  by  the  hand.  That  hardy  and  slippery  urchin  had 
somehow  been  captured  and  thrust  into  a  new  suit  of 
clothes,  and  had-  not  yet  recovered  from  his  astonishment 
and  discomfiture.  He  glanced  at  his  mother  out  of  the 
corner  of  one  eye,  and  sniffled ;  gave  me  a  kind  of  leer  with 
the  other,  and  grinned ;  looked  down  at  his  clothes,  and 
wriggled,  as  if  he  would  fain  cast  them  as  a  serpent  does 
his  skin  ;  and,  finally,  contemplated,  the  door  in  a  way  that 
made  it  evident  he  was  calculating  the  chances  of  escape. 

His  mother's  face  of  quiet  sorrow  went  to  my  heart. 
"I  am  just  beginning  to  realize  that  I  must  give  her  up," 
said  she  to  me,  piteously.  "  So  far,  she  has  been  like  an 
angel  in  the  house,  filling  it  with  peace  and  restfulness ;  but 
when  she  is  gone,  what  is  to  take  the  vacant  place?" 


SHILOII.  125 

There  are  questions  which  only  He  who  spake  as  never 
man  spake,  can  answer.  Certain  of  His  words  came  to  my 
lips,  in  such  wise  that  they  seemed  to  utter  themselves 
without  help  of  my  volition.  "  '  I  will  not  leave  you  com- 
fortless, I  will  come  unto  you.' — 'And  I  will  pray  the 
Father,  and  He  will  send  you  another  Comforter,  that  He 
may  abide  with  you  forever.'  " 

"  I  know  it,"  she  answered,  in  a  low,  self-communing 
tone.  "  I  know  the  Everlasting  Arms-  are  always  ready  to 
catch  us.  when  our  earthly  props  fall  away,  if  we  will  but  let 
them.  Yet  the  human  supports  are  very  sweet,  too !  But 
thank  you,  Miss  Frost ;  I  will  try  to  remember  those  words 
when — when  it  comes  to  the  final  parting." 

She  watched  me  silently,  while  I  combed  out  and  ar- 
ranged her  daughter's  long,  shining  hair, — that  wonderful 
human  growth  ! — so  beautiful  in  its  tint  and  texture,  so  in- 
destructible in  its  nature, — keeping  lustrous  and  lifelike 
long  after  the  head  that  it  adorned  has  crumbled  into 
dust, — and  often  outliving  both  the  affection  that  treas- 
ured, and  the  memory  that  enriched,  it! 

"  How  is  your  son  S..amuel  ? "  I  asked,  at  length,  de- 
sirous of  diverting  her  thoughts  into  some  brighter 
channel. 

"  He  is  a  great  deal  better,  thank  you.  He  would  make 
us  bring  him  in  to  bid  his  sister  good-bye,  this  morning. 
It  was  pitiful  to  see  his  wan  face  hanging  over  hers."  The 
mother's  lip  quivered. 

"  And  Mr.  Warren  ?  "  I  hastened  to  inquire. 

"  He  is  nearly  sick  with  grief.  Maggie  was  his  idol, 
you  know.  I  am  quite  distressed  about  him.  He  comes  in 
and  looks  at  her  awhile,  and  then  goes  put  and  wanders 
aixwnd  the  place,  or  sits  in  the  garden,  perfectly  silent  and 
motionless,  for  hours.  He  is  there  now.  Cannot  you  go 
and  speak  to  him,  Miss  Frost  ?  It  is  time  he  was  roused. 
He  has  not  yet  dressed  himself  for  the  funeral ; — indeed,  I 
do  not  even  know  that  he  means  to  go." 


126     -  SHILOH. 

I  made  a  gesture  of  dismay.  The  idea  of  intruding 
upon  the  grief  of  a  man  that  I  knew  and  understood  so  lit- 
tle, was  exceedingly  distasteful  to  me. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go,"  she  urged.  "  I  think  he  likes 
you.  It  is  certain  that  he  has  listened  to  you  more  patiently 
than  ever  he  did  to  anybody  else,  and  that  he  has  not  been 
able  to  get  some  of  your  words  out  of  his  head.  Do  go  !  " 

Thus  entreated,  I  went,  though  not  without  extreme  re- 
luctance. "  What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?  "  I  murmured  to 
myself,  as  I  caught  sight  of  his  motionless  figure  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  garden. 

BOXA.  "  Take  no  thought  how  or  what  you  shall  speak, 
for  it  shall  be  given  you  in  that  same  hour  what  you  shall 
speak." 

He  was  sitting  on  a  fallen  tree,  with  his  back  toward 
me.  It  is  wonderful  how  much  misery  can  be  expressed  by 
mere  attitude ; — his  head  was  bowed,  all  the  lines  of  his 
figure  drooped,  his  very  garments  had  a  weary,  dejected, 
grief-worn  aspect.  He  must  have  heard  my  footsteps,  but 
he  neither  moved  nor  turned  his  head,  not  even  when  I 
stopped  within  an  arm's  length  of  him.  A  genuine  em- 
barrassment overcame  me.  I  was  about  to  steal  noiselessly 
away,  when  I  felt — by  chance,  I  was  about  to  say,  but  I 
have  expunged  that  word  from  my  vocabulary — my  little 
prayer-book  in  my  pocket.  The  touch  was  like  an  inspira- 
tion. Opening  it  at  random,  my  eyes  fell  \ipon  the  thirty- 
eighth  Psalm,  and  I  began  to  read,  in  a  voice  that  shook 
like  an  aspen  leaf, — 

" '  Put  me  not  to  rebuke,  O  Lord,  in  Thine  anger, 
neither  chasten  me  in  Thy  heavy  displeasui-e.  For  Thine 
arrows  stick  fast  in  me,  and  Thy  hand  presseth  me  sore.'  " 

I  saw  that  the  words  struck  him  powerfully, — not  so 
much  by  any  start  or  gesture,  as  by  the  greater  immobility, 
the  fixed  attention,  of  his  form.  I  went  on,  therefore,  wi;  h 
increasing  confidence,  " '  For  my  wickednesses  are  gone 
over  my  head,  and  are  like  a  sore  burden,  too  heavy  for  me 


127 

to  bear.'  '  I  am  brought  into  so  great  trouble  and  misery, 
that  I  go  mourning  all  the  day  long.'  '  I  am  feeble  and 
sore  smitten.  I  have  roared  for  the  very  disquietness  of  my 
heart.' " 

A  groan  burst  from  him,  like  an  echo  of  the  words, 
and  so  deep  and  powerful  that  I  started  in  alarm.  Recov- 
ering myself  instantly,  I  proceeded, 

"  '  My  lovers  and  neighbors  did  stand  looking  upon  my 
trouble,  and  my  kinsmen  stood  afar  off.' '' 

He  murmured  some  unintelligible  words. 

" '  As  for  me  *I  was  like  a  deaf  man,  and  heard  not ; 
and  as  one  that  is  dumb,  who  doth  not  open  his  mouth.'  " 

He  nodded  his  head,  as  if  in  assent. 

"  '  For  I  will  confess  my  wickedness  and  be  sorry  for 
my  sin.' " 

A  kind  of  hopeless  shiver  ran  over  him,  and  a  deep 
sigh  escaped  his  lips.  Still  turning  the  leaves  at  random, 
I  alighted  .upon  the  twenty-second  Psalm,  and  read  on 
without  any  apparent  pause.  When  I  came  to  the  sen- 
tences,—" Our  fathers  hoped  in  Thee — They  called  up- 
on Thee,  and  were  holpen. — But  as  for  me,  I  am  a  worm 
and  no  man,  a  very  scorn  of  men,  and  the  outcast  of  the 
people," — he  dropped  his  head  heavily  into  his  hands,  and 
a  long,  struggling  moan  of  incontrollable  agony  testified 
that  the  "Word  of  God  is,  in  truth,  "  sharper  than  any  two- 
edged  sword,  piercing  even  to  the  dividing  asunder  of 
joints  and  marrow."  The  sound  smote  me  with  poignant 
pain  and  pity ;  not  wittingly  or  willingly  had  I  pressed  so 
heavily  upon  his  hidden  sore.  I  began  to  look,  trembling, 
for  balm  wherewith  to  dress  the  wound,  and  the  thirty-sec- 
ond Psalm  came  opportunely  to  hand.  The  better  to  make 
him  feel  that  his  place  was  still  secure  in  the  sympathetic 
chain  of  human  brotherhood,  I  laid  my  hand  lightly  on  his 
shoulder  as  I  read, — knowing  that  there  is  often  a  subtler 
sympathy  in  touch  than  in  any  word  spoken  afar  off;  and 
having  lost,  for  the  moment,  that  consciousness  of  moral  re- 


128  SHILOHv 

pulsion  which  had  hitherto  made  it  so  difficult  for  me  to 
approach  him. 

When  the  Psalm  was  finished,  I  waited  silently  for  the 
paroxysm  to  cease ;  then  I  said,  quietly,  "  It  is  nearly  time 
for  the  people  to  gather,  sir,  and  Mrs.  Warren  says  you  are 
not  dressed  yet.  Of  course,  you  will  not  let  Maggie  go 
from  you,  without  accompanying  her  as  far  on  the  way  as 
you  can." 

And  without  seeking  to  extract  any  reply,  or  to  look  in 
his  face,  I  went  back  to  the  house.  A  moment  after,  I 
heard  him  enter,  and  go  up  stairs. 

In  a  short  time  the  undertaker  arrived,  and  brought  into 

*  O 

the  death-chamber  that  long,  narrow  box,  which,  whether 
it  be  rich  or  plain,  shows  more  clearly  than  anything  else 
in  the  world,  perhaps,  how  limited  are  the  world's  posses- 
sions, how  bounded  the  world's  hopes.  If  this  life  were  all, 
and  to  end  thus  and  there — who  would  care  to  live  it  ? 

So  I  thought,  and  so  I  said  to  Mr.  Warren,  who,  I  found, 
was  standing  by  me,  looking  into  the  coffin  with  a  face  of 
utter  loathing. 

"  You  really  believe  in  another  life,  then  ?  "  he  asked, 
but  in  a  listless,  aimless  way,  as  if  the  answer  could  in  no- 
wise concern  him. 

"  Believe  !  I  think  I  can  say  with  Job,  I  KNOW  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  though  after  my  skin  worms  de- 
stroy this  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God." 

He  shook  his  head, — more,  it  appeared,  in  hopelessness 
than  contradiction.  "  Look  abroad  in  Nature ;  everything 
dies." 

"Yes,  sir- — to  live  again." 

"  Um — do  you  believe  that  the  beasts  live  after  death?" 

"  There  is  no  conclusive  evidence  against  it,  that  I  know 
of.  The  fact  from  which  I  chiefly  draw  an  inference  to  the 
contrary,  furnishes  as  strong  a  presumption  in  favor  of 
man's  immortality." 

He  began  to  look  interested.     "  What  is  it  ?  " 


SHILOH.  129 

"  Well,  so  far  as  we  can  judge,  the  beasts  have  no  hope 
nor  expectation  of  another  existence.  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  God  would  be  likely  to  impart  a  hope  that  He  designed 
to  fulfil,  inasmuch  as  He  never  implants  one  that  He  mean? 
to  disappoint." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  answered,  in  .a  vague,  in' 
ward  tone.  "  I  once  hoped  to  be — happy." 

"  You  can  be  yet,  sir,  if  you  will  seek  for  happiness  in 
that  only,  narrow  path  which  leads  to  it.  They  who  choose 
to  walk  in  the  broad  way  of  self-indulgence,  and  the  pride 
of  human  reason,  are  fools,  deceiving  their  own  selves." 

",And  rich,"  he  continued,  in  the  same  dreamy  voice. 

"  Yes,  sir,  with  the  riches  that  do  not  perish  in  the 
using." 

"  And  handsome  and  brilliant." 

"  They  shall  be  mine,  saith  the  Lord,  in  that  day  when 
I  make  up  my  jewels." 

He  turned  upon  me  with  a  sudden  and — to  me — inex- 
plicable sharpness.  "  I  wish  you  would  find  an  answer 
somewhere  besides  in  the  Bible." 

"  I  would,  sir,  if  I  could  find  an  apter  one  elsewhere,"  I 
answered,  quietly.  He  looked  at  me  a  moment,  then  his 
eyes  fell. 

All  things  now  being  ready,  the  undertaker  stepped  to 
Maggie's  side,  and,  signaling  to  Aunt  Vin  to  help  him,  was 
about  to  lift  her  into  the  coffin ;  when  Mr.  Warren  started 
forward,  crying  out,  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with  flashing  eyes, 
"  What  are  you  doing  there  !  In  Heaven's  name,  let  my 
dead  child  alone  !  " 

The  man  shrank  back,  and  stared  hard  at  him,  in  amaze- 
ment and  perplexity. 

"I  don't  want  any  strange  hands  about  her,"  continued 
the  father,  after  a  moment,  trying  to  control  his  irritation ; 
but  still  with  a  shade  of  bitter  resentment  in  his  tone.  "  If 
you'll  just  step  out  into  the  kitchen  there,  we  will  do  it 
ourselves, — thank  you." 
6" 


130  SHILOH. 

The  man  obeyed,  and  Mr.  Warren  carefully  closed  the 
door  after  him,  muttering  between  his  teeth,  "  How  dare  he 
touch  her !  "  Certainly,  his  character  is  a  study  of  such  a 
nature  as  was  never  before  presented  to  my  eyes.  What 
a  curious  combination  of  delicacy  and  coarseness,  of  re- 
finement and  crudity ! 

We  transferred  the  still,  white  maiden  to  her  narrow 
couch — we  four — with  very  gentle  hands ;  it  falling  to  my 
share  to  lay  the  lovely  head,  with  its  face  of  unearthly 
peacefulness,  on  its  last,  low  pillow.  A  tear  fell"  beside  it. 
I  bethought  me  that  Maggie  Warren  was  the  first  and  only 
being,  in  many  long  days,  to  call  out  in  me  that  species  of 
affection  which  is  so  quickly  begotten  of  helplessness  and 
help,  and  to  respond  to  it  with  a  certain  degree  of  apprecia- 
tion and  preference  ;  and  I  regretted  to  lose  even  that  small 
sunbeam  out  of  my  life.  To  be  helpful  is  not  to  be  happy, 
I  know ;  but  it  is  one  of  the  elements  of  happiness  that  I 
least  like  to  miss. 

Lastly,  I  put  a  fresh  cross  and  wreath  in  their -places, 
and  fastened  to  the  coffin-lid  a  dove  made  entirely  of  lilies 
of  the  valley ;  which  last  ofiei'ing  elicited  from  Jack  a  bit 
of  unqualified  commendation. 

"  Golly !  ain't  that  fine ! " 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Frost  will  tell  you  what  it  means,"  said 
his  mother,  quietly. 

•  "  It  is  the  emblem  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  whose  sweetest 
name  is  '  Comforter,' "  I  answered,  instantly  perceiving  her 
intent.  "  If  it  reminds  us  also  of  that  first  dove  noted  in 
the  world's  history,  which  found  no  rest  nor  shelter  till  it 
returned  to  the  ark  from  whence  it  set  forth ;  and  helps  us, 
by  means  of  these  exterior  types,  to  understand  that  the 
human  soul  finds  never  perfect  peace,  nor  safe  home,  until 
it  resorts  to  that  God  who  created  it ;  my  dove  will  have 
done  its  perfect  work,  Jack." 

Jack  stared,  uncomprehending;  Mr.  Warren  turned 
hastily  away. 


XIII. 

THE  DOVE  BEFORE  THE  ALTAR. 

HE  funeral  guests  were  now  assembling  fast. 
A  goodly  company  of  grave-looking  ma- 
tron*, quaintly  respectable  in  well-prej 
served  old  fashioned  garments,  was  already 
seated  in  the  kitchen  ;  filling  it  with  a  whisper- 
ing buzz,  as  of  a  swarm  of  flies.  Knots  of 
bright-faced  girls  were  standing  in  the  corners, 
and  around  the  front  door-yard ;  so  thoroughly 
imbued  with  the  glow  and  freshness  of  this  first  day  of 
June  by  their  long  walk  over  breezy  hills  and  through  leaf- 
arched  lanes,  that  all  their  efforts  to  subside  from  gayety 
into  gloom,  only  resulted  in  a  compromise  of  subdued  cheer- 
fulness. Not  until  they  entered  the  little  room  where  Mag- 
gie lay,  and  looked  at  her  white  face,  did  their  pretty  play 
of  smile  and  dimple  quite  cease,  and  a  quick  moisture  suffuse 
and  soften  their  sparkling  eyes.  There  were  stout,  steady- 
going  farmers,  too,  gathered  about  the 'step  and  gate  (the 
house  being  too  small  to  hold  half  the  assemblage)  and 
talking  intermittently  in  low,  grave  tones ;  and  a  row  of 
young  men  leaning  on  the  fence ;  and  a  sprinkling  of  boys, 
full  of  curiosity  and  restlessness,  hanging  .about  their  eld- 
ers with  upturned  faces  and  wide-open  ears.  And  all  up 
and  down  the  road,  on  either  side,  was  a  string  of  country- 
wagons,  of  every  antique  and  clumsy  pattern ;  and  horses, 


132  SHILOH. 

of  every  age,  size,  color,  and  quality ; — from  restless,  h  nlf 
broken  colts,  constantly  stamping  and  backing,  and  elicit- 
ing an  occasional  low,  sharp  "  Whoa  !  "  from  their  vigilant 
masters,  to  patient,  broken-down  mares,  standing  motion- 
less in  the  sun,  with  drooping  heads ;  and  only  proving 
themselves  to  be  alive  by  a  lazy  whisk  of  the  tail;  now  and 
then,  or  a  sudden  contraction  of  a  muscle  and  twitching  of 
the  skin,  to  displace  some  tormenting  fly.  One  of  these 
last  had  a  colt  of  very  tender  age,  frisking  about  her,  and 
often  provoking  an  angry  snort  and  snap  from  some  neigh- 
boring animal, — evidently  of  the  opinion  of  certain  of  the 
human  race,  that  babies  should  never  be  taken  from  Jiome. 

Mr.  Taylor  now  appeared,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott  and  the  Divines.  I  saw  his  face  light  up,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  my  dove ;  and,  a  moment  after,  he  sought 
me  out. 

"  "What  made  you  hit  upon  that  design,  of  all  others  ?  " 
inquired  he. 

'  I  do  not  know  ;  I  thought  it  was  appropriate  enough, 
— is  it  not  ?  "  I  answered,  wondering. 

"  I  should  think  so  !  you  have  not  the  least  idea  how 
singularly  appropriate  it  is."  And  he  passed  on. 

A  few  prayers  were  offered  :  then  the  procession  formed, 
and  moved  slowly  toward  the  church.  Very  seldom  had 
Maggie  entered  its  doors  in  her  lifetime,  I  knew, — not  so 
much  on  account  of  adverse  influence  at  home  as  because 
its  services  had  been  so  few  and  irregular,  of  late.  -Not 
only  over  Jerusalem,  be  sure,  did  the  Saviour  weep ;  but,  in 
His  penetrating,  prophetic  vision,  over  every  place  where 
the  House  of  the  Lord  is  allowed  to  stand  empty  from 
month  to  month,  and  year  to  year;  while  those  who  dwell 
under  its  shadow  grow  daily  and  hourly  more  absorbed  in 
earthly  toil  and  earthly  aims,  more  and  more  forgetful  that 
life  was  given  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  buy  and  sell 
and  get  gain.  Over  all  such  fallow  fields  in  His  vineyard, 
our  Lord's  mournful  words  echo  even  yet, — "If  thou 


SHILOII.  loo 

hadst  known,  even  thou,  at  least  in  this  thy  day,  the 
things  which  belong  to  thy  peace  !  " 

When  I  entered  the  vestibule  of  the  church,  Alice  Pres- 
cott  (evidently  on  the  watch)  intercepted  me,  and  led  me 
into  the  shadow  of  the  gallery  staircase.  "  Oh !  Miss 
Frost,"  she  exclaimed,  eagerly,  "  can't  you  sing  ?  " 

'•'  Sing  !  "  I  repeated,  between  surprise  and  disgust,  "  no 
— I  don't  know — that  is,  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Ruth  Winnot  is  so — so  hoarse,"  stammered  she,  blush- 
ing,— her  small  array  of  self-possession,  called  out  by  the 
exigency  of  the  moment,  being  utterly  routed  by  my  un- 
gracious manner, — "  she  can  hardly  make  a  sound.  And  I 
thought — or  mother  did — that  you  would — at  least,  that 
perhaps  you  might — sing  for  us  just  this  once." 

"  But  Miss  Winnot  sang  this  morning,"  I  said,  in  a  cross- 
questioning  tone. 

"  Yes,  her  cold  was  only  just  beginning  then,  and  she 
managed  to  get  through,  somehow.  But  she  thinks  that 
singing  only  irritated  her  throat ;  and  after  she  stopped, 
she  seemed  to  choke  right  up.  When  she  tried,  a  few  min- 
utes ago,  she  couldn't  get  out  a  note.  And  then  I  thought 
of  you." 

"  But  do  you  not  sing  ?  " 

"  I  can  help  a  little,  I  can't  lead." 

"  Make  your  alto  take  the  air,  then." 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  Alice,  looking  bewildered.  "  Oh  !  you 
mean  the  second !  She  went  right  home,  as  soon  as  it  was 
proposed.  Nothing  puts  her  out  so  much  as  to  be  asked 
to  sing  treble." 

No  doubt  I  looked  fully  as  much  "  put  out,"  to  judge 
by  Alice's  downcast  face.  Its  pained  and  discomfited  ex- 
pression softened  my  tone  a  little,  when  next  I  spoke, 
though  there  was  no  relenting  in  my  mood. 

"  I  sing  '  second,'  too,  Alice, — when  I  sing  at  all." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  she  rejoined,  in  a  wondering,  doubtful  way, 
"  I  thought  you  could  sing  anything  you  liked." 


134  SIIILOII. 

Her  naive  confidence  in  my  powers  brought  a  reluctant, 
but  irrepressible  smile  to  my  lips.  "Thank  you,  but  you 
greatly  overrate  my  musical  ability  ;  I  am  not  such  a  happy 
and  convenient  combination  of  Malibran,  Alboni,  Mario, 
and  Lablache.  The  real  state  of  the  case  is  that  I  have 
always  cared  more  for  the  theoretical  than  the  practical 
part  of  music,  for  myself;  and  that  latterly,  for  reasons 
which  it  is  not  worth  while  to  enter  upon,  I  have  acquired 
an  aversion  to  the  sound  of  my  own  voice.  You  have  not 
heard  me  sing  since  I  came  to  Shiloh,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  once — in  the  garden.  First,  you  imitated 
a  wren  that  was  singing  in  the  pear-tree ;  and  then  you  went 
on  with  something  that  sounded  like  a  great  many  birds' 
songs,  put  together.  I  never  heard  anything  like  it,  in  my 
life !  To  be  sure,  you  looked  all  the  time  as  if  you  were 
thinking  of  something  else." 

I  was  dumbfounded.  Without  this  incontrovertible 
testimony,  I  could  not  have  believed  that  I  had  sung  a 
note  since  April.  Doubtless,  I  had  treated  Alice  and  the 
wren  to  a  purely  mechanical  and  involuntary  repetition  of 
some  old  exercises  in  trills  or  chromatics, — recalled  to  my 
memory  by  something  in  the  song  of  the  latter.  And  no 
wonder  the  simple  little  country-maiden  was  astonished ! 
Probably  she  never  did  hear  anything  like  the  scientific 
training  of  a  modern  singer ;  nor  is  she  in  the  least  aware 
what  a  blissful  ignorance  is  hers  ! 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  she  sighed,  after  a  pause,  turning 
reluctantly  away.  "It's  so  miserable  not  to  have  any 
singing ! " 

BONA  (with  severity).  "Well,  what  are  you  waiting  for  ? 
you  know  you  can  sing  well  enough  for  the  occasion,  if  you 
like. 

I  (petulantly).  But  I  do  not  like !  You  know  I  hate  to 
sing,  and  why.  I  wish  I  had  never  learned  how ! 

MALA.  And  to  such  an  audience !  How  very  appreci- 
ative they  will  be  of  Signer  Canto's  "style,"  which  lie 


SHILOH.  135 

drilled  into  you  so  thoroughly !  An  accordeon  accompani- 
ment, too ! 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

BOXA.  The  question  is  not  one  of  preference  or  appre- 
ciation. It  is  simply  whether  the  burial  service  this  after- 
noon shall  be  conducted  with  the  greatest  attainable  degree 
of  perfection  and  solemnity,  by  your  help ;  or  whether  it 
shall  be  shorn  somewhat  of  both,  through  your  unwilling- 
ness to  do  your  duty. 

MALA.  It  is  not  your  duty.  You  are  not  one  of  the 
Shiloh  choir. 

BONA.  It  is  your  duty  to  do  anything  you  are  asked  to 
do,  to  sustain  the  service, — when  there  is  nothing  to  hinder, 
and  no  one  who  can,  or  will,  do  it  any  better. 

I.  But  I  am  all  out  of  practice. 

BOXA.  That  is  your  fault.  And  one  fault  is  not  to  be 
offered  as  an  excuse  for  another. 

I.  And  it  is  so  awkward  and  uncomfortable  to  sing  with 
people  one  is  not  accustomed  to  sing  with ! 

BONA.  Your  own  comfort  is  the  last  thing  to  be  con- 
sidered, under  the  circumstances.  And  your  audience  will 
notrbe  a  critical  one. 

I.  And  I  sing  alto  ! 

BONA.  Your  voice  has  all  the  compass,  and  more,  that 
will  be  required  for  the  music  you  will  have  to  sing. 

My  last  defences  being  thus  carried,  I  began  to  mount 
the  stairs  slowly  and  reluctantly.  Alice,  watching  my  in- 
decision from  a  few  steps  above,  accepted  the  movement  as 
a  favorable  augury.  "  Oh !  are  you  going  to  sing,  after 
all  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  brightening  face. 

"Perhaps,"  I  answered,  shortly;  not  to  enhance  the 
value  of  the  favor  by  that  cheerful  readiness  of  compliance 
which  would  make  it  most  acceptable. 

Her  face  fell  again,  and  she  led  the  way  in  silence  to 
where  Ruth  Winnot  sat,  with  her  head  resting  wearily  on 
the  seat  before  her.  One  glance  at  her  flushed  and  suffer- 


156  SHILOH. 

ing  face  convinced  me  that  her  excuse  was  no  trumped-up 
one ;  she  was  in  the  fell  grasp  of  an  influenza.  Yet  even 
under  such  unfavorable  circumstances,  I  was  struck  with 
her  uncommon  beauty.  Soft,  wavy  hair,  of  that  rare,  rich 
tint  of  auburn  which  artists  love  so  well,  framed  a  face  of 
pure  oval  outline ;  with  straight,  delicate  features,  and 
clear,  brown  eyes,  that  had  a  strain  of  pathos  in  them  for 
which  not  even  the  influenza  accounted  fully. 

"  The  bass  " — to  borrow  Alice's  title,  was  turning  over 
his  music-book,  with  an  anxious  face.  He  was  a  little, 
meek-looking  man,  with  a  legible  enough  record  of  misfor- 
tune and.  patience  written  across  his  brow ;  and  wofully 
near  sighted.  He  glanced  toward  me  nervously,  gave  ut- 
terance to  an  embarrassed  "  Ahem !  "  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  music-book. 

I  sat  down,  and  looked  around  me.  The  gallery  was  so 
small,. and  so  near  to  the  ceiling — so  ill-ventilated,  withal 
— that  it  was  like  a  furnace.  I  noted,  mechanically,  half-a- 
dozen  high-backed  pews  ;  the  unrailed  opening  of  the  stair- 
case, looking  like  a  trap ;  a  ladder  leading  to  the  little 
tower  above ;  and  a  whole  colony  of  wasps  clinging  to  the 
window-sashes,  with  two  or  three  scouts  flying  in  the  open 
space,  which  I  could  not  help  dodging,  now  and  then, 
though  no  one  else  seemed  to  mind  them. 

The  bass  sent  another  nervous  glance  in  my  direction, 
and  a  preliminary,  "  Ahem  !  " 

"  What  would  you  like  to  sing  ?  "  inquired  he,  in  a  tone 
which  seemed  to  imply  that  he  feared  it  was  taking  a  liberty 
to  ask  the  question. 

"  It  does  not  matter  in  the  least,"  I  answered,  making 
some  little  effort  to  bring  my  mood  up  to  the  level  of  oi-di- 
nary  civility ;  but  conscious  that  there  was  a  disagreeable, 
injured  inflection  in  my  voice.  It  was  plain  that  it  was  felt 
acutely  in  his  consciousness,  too, — for  he  colored  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  music-book  again. 

Ashamed  of   venting  my  ill-hurnor  upon  anything  so 


SHILOH.  137 

mild  and  inoffensive,  I  hastened  to  remove  the  unpleasant 
impression.  "  That  is,"  I  continued,  "  I  should  prefer  to 
have  you  choose ;  I  am  such  a  tyro  in  choir-singing.  This 
is  my  first  attempt,  and  I  have  not  the  least  idea  how  I 
shall  acquit  myself.  You  are  the  best  judge,  therefore, 
what  the  tune  should  be." 

He  looked  a  little  reassured.  After  some  moments' 
search,  he  held  the  book  toward  me  and  pointed  to  the 
open  page.  "  Would  you  mind  singing  that  ?  I  guess  it's 
as  suitable  as  anything  we've  got,  and  it's  an  old  tune  that 
everybody  knows." 

It  was  so  old  as  to  be  quite  new  to  me.  I  hastily  sig- 
nified my  acceptance  of  it,  however,  and  the  matter  was 
settled.  In  good  time,  too,  for  Mr.  Taylor's  voice  began 
to  vibrate  solemnly  through  the  building,  "I  am  the  Res- 
urrection nnd  the  Life." 

I  drew  near  the  gallery-rail,  and  looked  down.  Slowly 
and  with  difficulty  the  pall-bearers  made  their  way  up  the 
narrow  aisle ;  and  Maggie  was  placed  in  front  of  the  chan- 
cel, with  her  white  face  looking  up  to  the  white  ceiling, 
and  the  strong  light  of  the  many  windQws  setting  clearly 
forth  every  line,  ev.ery  feature,  every  fold  and  flower.  A 
broad  band  of  sunshine  lay  directly  across  her  bosom,  kind- 
ling cross  and  crown  into  a  vivid,  half-diaphanous  bright- 
ness ;  and  the  breeze  came  freely  in,  full  of  pleasant  sum- 
mer sounds, — the  twittering  of  birds,  the  cheery  chirp  of 
insects,  the  faint  tinkling  of  a  cowVbell  in  a  far-off  meadow, 
— and  lifted  the  sleeping  girl's  hair  with  light  fingers,  and 
ruffled  the  fragrant  plumage  of  the  dove  on  the  coffin,  un- 
til both  seemed  to  be  stirring  with  some  new-found,  myste- 
rious life.  I  should  scarcely  have  marveled  to  see  the  one 
arise,  and  the  other  fly  out  of  the  window,  such  life-likeness 
did  the  breeze  and  sunshine  impart  to  them. 

The  few  mourners  followed,  and  filed  into  the  front 
pews.  Mr.  Warren  looked  around  him,  with  a  face  that 
was  almost  fierce  in  its  grief  and  bewilderment.  He  had 


138  SHILOH. 

not  crossed  the  threshold  of  a  church  for  years  on  years,  I 
was  told ;  and  there  were  many  eyes  gazing  at  him  with 
more  curiosity  than  sympathy.  I  think  his  quick  intuitions 
felt,  and  resented  it  momentarily,  even  then  ;  for  he  stopped 
at  the  pew-door,  and  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  turn 
and  march  out ;  then  his  glance  fell  on  Maggie's  form,  his 
chin  dropped  on  his  breast,  and  he  sank  into  his  seat,  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  had  lost  all  consciousness  of  outward 
things  in  the  miserable  abstraction  of  mental  anguish. 

Then  followed  the  beautiful,  brief,  comprehensive  bur- 
ial service  of  the  Church ;  so  excellent  in  what  it  says,  so 
especially  admirable  in  what  it  leaves  unsaid.  There  is 
nothing  like  it  anywhere ;  all  other  ceremonials  of  burial 
seem  either  heavy  or  puerile,  beside  its  severe,  yet  most 
fit  and  satisfying,  simplicity. 

I  understood  Mr.  Taylor's  remarks  about  my  dove, 
when  he  announced  his  text.  "  But  the  dove  found  no 
rest  for  the  sole  of  her  foot,  and  she  returned  unto  him  in 
the  ark ;  for  the  waters  were  on  the  face  of  the  whole 
earth.  Then  he  put  forth  his  hand,  and  took  her  and 
pulled  her  into  the  ark."  Spiritual  unrest — its  nature, 
cause,  and  cure, — this  was  Mr.  Taylor's  subject.  It  was 
developed  with  a  degree  of  poetic  feeling  that  I  had  not 
expected:  God's  loving  haste  to  meet  and  welcome  the 
first  return  of  the  wandering  soul  to  Him,  as  typified  in  the 
putting  forth  of  the  hand,  and  the  pulling  of  the  dove  into 
the  ark,  was  not  overlooked :  neither  was  the  yet  deeper 
analogy  of  the  hand  to  the  death-angel,  and  of  the  ark  to 
the  heavenly  state,  with  its  gentle  consolations  for  the 
time  of  bereavement,  neglected;  and  the  delivery  was 
warmed  by  a  still  richer  glow  of  that  fervor  and  earnest- 
ness which  had  so  impressed  me  in  Mr.  Taylor's  manner  in 
the  morning.  He  was  more  at  home  now,  he  felt  himself 
more  thoi-oughly  en  rapport  with  his  hearers, — sure  of  the 
responsive  kinship  of  all  souls  that  sorrowed  or  sym- 
pathized around  him.  After  the  first  few  sentences,  Mr. 


SHILOII.  139 

Warren  lifted  his  head,  and  listened  with  an  attention  that 
never  wavered  throughout.  I  was  so  interested  myself, 
that  the  announcement  of  the  two-hundred-and-fifth  hymn 
came  upon  me  with  startling  unexpectedness. 

I  might  say,  with  almost  perfect  truth;  that  I  did  not 
know  there  was  such  a  hymn  in  the  prayer-book  ;  for  I  had 
never  before  read  it  with  any  attention,  nor  known  of  its 
exquisite  fitness  for  an  occasion  like  the  present.  I  just 
glanced  over  the  words,  and  a  thrill  went  through  and 
through  me.  By  the  time  Ruth  Winnot  had  finished  her 
small  prelude,  I  was  nearly  unconscious  of  accordeon,  ac- 
companiment, helpers,  or  hearers, — of  everything,  save  the 
wonderful  power  and  adaptation  of  the  words  I  was  to 
sing,  and  the  mighty  swell  of  a  musical  inspiration  such  as 
I  never  felt  before,  and  do  not  expect  to  feel  again.  I  be- 
gan in  a  full,  clear,  recitative  style,  that  filled  the  little 
church  like  a  sea,  and  quenched  every  stir  and  rustle  be- 
low. At  the  third  line,  Alice's  small  voice  dropped  out 
entirely,  and  her  head  went  down  on  the  book-ledge  before 
her,  trembling  with  emotion.  The  bass  being  both  smooth 
and  sympathetic,  kept  along  well ;  the  tenor, — uncertain 
what  I  might,  or  might  not,  do  next, — sang  in  subdued, 
and  consequently,  more  musical  tones  ;  and  Ruth  played 
like  one  doubly  inspired — from  without  and  within. 

When  I  came  to  the  words, 

» 

"  So  blooms  the  human  face  divine, 
When  youth  its  pride  of  beauty  shows," 

Mr.  Warren  faced  square  about,  totally  unmindful  of  cus- 
tom or  comment,  and  fixed  his  piercing  eyes  on  my  face. 
His  intent  gaze  only  deepened  and  quickened  the  electrical 
current  that  had  already  made  me  aware  of  the  entire  sympa- 
thy of  all  my  auditors,  and  I  sang  on  with  added  power  and 
fervor.  The  mournful  sentiment  of  the  next  verse  wailed 
itself  forth  in  slow,  soft,  sombre  'tones,  that  Alice  heard 
with  an  accompaniment  of  long-drawn,  smothered  sobs ; — 


140  SHILOH. 

"The  fading  glory  disappears, 
The  short-lived  beauties  die  away." 

The  next  verse  began  to  swell  with  the  joy  of  heavenly 
hope  and  faith  ;  but  I  reserved  the  full  power  of  my  voice 
to  roll  out  the  last  like  a  stately  anthem  of  praise, — 

"Let  sickness  blast  and  death  devour, 

If  heaven  shall  recompense  our  pains ! 
Perish  the  grass  and  fade  the  flower, 
If  firm  the  Word  of  God  remains ! " 

Mr.  Warren  kept  his  position  for  some  seconds,  after  the 
last  tone  died  away ;  then  dropped  heavily  into  his  seat. 
For  him,  I  suspect,  the  service  was  over.  Certainly,  he 
gave  little  heed  to  the  prayers  which  followed ;  neither^  if 
the  truth  must  be  told,  did  I.  The  confusion  and  the 
fatigue  of  reaction  came  upon  me  powerfully ;  I  leaned  my 
head  against  a  pillar,  and  knew  nothing  save  that  I  had 
been  in  a  state  of  superhuman  exaltation,  and  that  it  had 
left  me  very  humanly  weary. 

When  the  benediction  was  pronounced,  Ruth  Winnot 
turned  a  wet  and  working  face  toward  me.  "  Miss  Frost, 
I  shall  never  sing  again,"  she  said,  mournfully. 

"  Indeed,  why  not  ?  "  I  responded,  only  half-roused  to 
intelligence. 

"  I  can  never  sing  like  that,  and  nothing  less  could 
satisfy  me  now," — with  a  half-sob. 

"Miss  Winnot,"  I  returned,  earnestly,  "your  voice, 
naturally,  is  worth  a  dozen  of  mine ; — there  are  possibilities 
lurking  within  it,  to  which  mine  could  never,  by  any  possi- 
bility, attain.  The  effect  that  I  have  produced  on  you  to- 
day is  partly  owing  to  the  cultivation  my  voice  has  received, 
and  partly  borrowed  from  the  emotional  excitement  of  the 
occasion.  Your  fingers  felt  it  as  much  as  my  voice.  If 
you  could  put  the  same  soul  into  an  organ  as  you  did  into 
that  accordeon  just  now,  the  musical  world  would  fall  down 
and  worship  you." 


SIIILOH.  141 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  unconvinced.  Bona  whis- 
pered softly  into  my  ear,  and  I  made  a  sudden  resolution. 

An  opportunity  was  now  given  to  friends  and  neighbors 
to  take  a  last  look  at  features  shortly  to  vanish,  for  all  time, 
from  the  eyes  and  the  places  that  had  known  them  ;  of 
which,  it  seemed  to  me,  everybody  took  advantage,  except 
Ruth  Winnot, — who  remained  in  her  seat,  silent,  and,  ap- 
parently, suffering. 

The  mourners  went  last.  Mrs.  Warren  gave  her  child 
one  long,  lingering,  ineffably  tender  look ;  and  turned 
away,  never  once  losing  her  self-control.  It  was  plain  to 
see,  however,  that  her  face  was  so  calm  only  because  her 
grief  had  sunk  so  deep  down  into  her  heart ;  as  the  bosom 
of  a  lake  is  smooth  and  silent  over  the  mournfullest  secret 
of  its  depths.  But  the  father,  utterly  regardless  of  obser- 
vation and  the  lapse  of  time,  hung  over  the  lovely  face  as 
if  he  would  never  consent  to  part  with  it.  "Twice  the  un- 
dertaker laid  his  hand  on  his  arm,  and  sought  to  draw  him 
away,  and  twice  he  shook  it  off,  with  a  sound  like  a  sub- 
dued growl.  Suddenly  he  stood  upright,  glared  around 
him  like  a  wild  thing,  and  marched  quickly  down  the  aisle. 
Mrs.  Warren  hastened  after,  and  took  his  arm;  I  suspect 
she  was  afraid  he  would  go  straight  home  in  a  fit  of  sorrow- 
ful abstraction. 


XIV. 


DUST   TO    DUST. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  mournfulness  of 
the  occasion,  that  afternoon  ride  has  a  kind 
of  glory  in  my  memory,  mainly  attributable, 
I  imagine,  to  the  genial  influences  of  the  balmy 
June  weather;  the  really  fine  days  of  which 
month  are  the  most  perfect  that  the  year 
vouchsafes  us.  A  little  too  warm  in  the  sun? 
perhaps,  yet  only  enough  so  to  assure  us  that 
that  luminary  was  in  a  lavish  and  beneficent  mood; — 
neither  intent  on  restricting  his  life-giving  warmth  to  a 
bare  sufficiency  for  one's  needs ;  nor  engaged  in  a  malicious 
experiment  how  much  of  it  human  flesh  and  blood  could 
endure  without  broiling.  And  in  the  shade,  the  atmos- 
phere was  full  of  a  primal  freshness,  as  if  it  had  just  been 
created, — which  it  was  enough  of  delight  merely  to  breathe 
and  taste. 

The  graveyard  was  about  two  miles  away.  The  road 
thither  wound  through  a  pleasant  variety  of  New  England 
scenery,  wherein  the  tamest  objects  had  a  semi- wild  look, 
as  if  but  half-subordinated  to  civilization,  and  ready,  at  any 
moment,  to  lapse  back  into  savagery,  which  was  not  with- 
out its  charm.  Every  farm  had  its  ledges,  thickets,  swamps, 
and  outlying  wastes,  covered  with  rambling,  untutored 
vegetation;  alternating  with  green  meadows  and  fertile 
fields,  and  mingling  a  spice  of  rudeness  with  the  gentler 


SIIILOII.  143 

traits  of  the  scene.  Tiny  lakelets  smiled  and  scintillated 
in  the  valleys ;  here  and  there  a  late-blooming  apple-tree 
scattered  the  fragrant  snow  of  its  petals  "over  a  green  hill- 
side. Overhead,  arched  a  sky  without  a  cloud ;  depth  be- 
yond depth  of  illimitable,  dazzling  blue.  And  the  quietude 
was  perfect,  though  a  quietude  so  voiceful!  Sweetened 
only — not  disturbed — by  twitterings  of  birds  and  dreamy 
hum  of  insects,  soft  whisperings  of  leaves  and  babblings  of 
wayside  brooks. 

Through  all  this  light  and  glow,  this  warm  color  and 
various  melody,  this  fresh,  joyous,  abundant  life,  the  funeral 
procession,  with  its  hearse  and  coffin  and  mourners,  crept 
like  a  black,  devouring  shadow.  A  sorrowful  enough  sight, 
at  best,  with  its  hard  realities  of  human  waste  and  woe ; 
but  how  immitigably  bitter  to  all  such  as  are  insensible  to 
the  comfort  breathed  through  the  inspired  declaration, — 
"  That  which  thou  sowest  is  not  quickened,  except  it  die ! " 
For  one  miserable  moment,  I  tried  to  identify  my  mind 
with  Mr.  Warren's,  and  look  at  the  landscape  through  his 
eyes.  It  was  as  if  I  had  viewed  it  through  a  smoke- 
blackened  glass.  Without  the  hope  of  a  Perfect  Day  yet 
to  dawn,  through  whose  splendor  no  funeral  train  shall 
march,  all  the  glory  of  the  opening  June  seemed  but  a 
hollow  mockery  of  joy,  beside  that  trailing  shadow  of 
death  and  gloom. 

The  burial  ground  occupied  the  rounded  summit  and 
slope  of  a  hill,  by  the  roadside.  It  was  a  stony,  barren 
spot  enough,  notwithstanding  that  a  few  daisies  and  thistles 
did  their  small  best  to  make  it  beautiful ; — obviously,  the 
founders  thereof  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  waste 
any  soil  capable  of  a  present  yield  of  grain-sheaves,  upon 
the  prospect  of  the  future  harvest  of  immortality.  There 
was  a  sufficiently  abundant  crop  of  grave-stones,  however ; 
which  stony  outgrowth  was  to  be  found  in  every  stage  of 
freshness  and  decay, — from  the  disagreeably  new,  sharp- 
cut,  white,  modern  monument,  to  dark,  time-graven,  moss- 


Ill  SIIILOH. 

grown  head-stones,  fast  crumbling  away  and  mingling  their 
dust  with  that  which  they  had  so  ineffectually  sought  to 
memorialize.  TKese  seemed  to  have  their  allotted  period' 
for  flourishing  and  decay,  not  less  than  the  weeds  and  flow- 
ers,— albeit,  of  somewhat  longer  duration. 

We  all  gathered  around  the  narrow  niche  in  the  damp 
ground,  and  watched  the  coffin  lowered  to  its  place,  and 
listened  to  the  solemn  words  of  the  Committal,  and  heard 
the  dread  rattle  of  the  three-fold  fall  of  earth  on  its  lid — 
"  earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to  dust," — and  gave 
thanks  for  the  good  examples  of  the  faithful  departed,  and 
prayed  to  be  raised  from  the  death  of  sin  unto  the  life  of 
righteousness.  When  Mr.  Taylor's  voice  ceased,  there 
were  a  few  moments  of  deep,  uncovered  silence  ;  then,  two 
men  seized  their  spades,  and  began  to "  fill  up  the  grave. 
With  the  fall  of  the  first  shovelful,  came  the  dull  thud 
of  a  large  stone  on  the  coffin,  cruelly  wounding  the  white 
dove,  and  inflicting  a  yet  deeper  -hurt  upon  Mr.  Warrren's 
sensitive  heart.  He  gave  an  irritated  start,  knitting  his 
brows  ;  then,  as  a  second  hollow  sound  smote  his  ear,  he 
rushed  forward,  and  caught  the  man's  arm. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  he  cried,  bitterly,  "  is  there  no 
earth,  in  all  Shiloh,  to  throw  on  my  dead  child,  but  that !  " 

There  was  an  embarrassed  silence.  Mr.  Taylqr,  with 
Ms  features  working  convulsively,  stooped  and  began,  in  a 
blind,  unreasoning,  mechanical  way,  to  pick  out  the 
stones  from  that  side  of  the  pile  nearest  him.  One  or 
two  of  the  bystanders  felt  constrained  to  follow  his  exam,- 
ple,  though  with  manifest  reluctance  and  a  latent  fear  of 
making  themselves  ridiculous  ;  but  the  great  body  of  prac- 
tical-minded farmers  shook  their  heads  over  such  inconven- 
ient acuteness  of  feeling,  and  waste  of  time  and  labor;  and 
Major  Burcham  officiously  laid  his  hand  on  Mr.  Warren's 
shoulder,  and  tried  to  draw  him  aside,  with  some  common- 
place, reiterated  assurance  that  the  "  soul  was  gone,  and 
the  body  only  an  empty  casket,  sir,  only  an  empty  casket ! " 


SHILOH.  145 

— and  was  shaken  off  with  an  angry  rudeness  that  consid- 
erably ruffled  his  dignity.  At  this  juncture,  William  Her- 
man stepped  forth  and  showed  himself  the  same  cool- 
headed,  quick-witted,  and  kind-hearted  character,  here, 
that  I  had  found  him  to  be  in  the  sick-room. 

"  Miss  Essie,"  said  he,  quietly,  "  your  barn  is  nearest ; 
— is  there  any  straw  in  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  plenty, — thank  you ;  " — catching  his  idea  at  once, 
and  feeling  a  quick  and  grateful  relief,  that  was  shared 
by  everybody  within  hearing.  "  Bring  as  much  as  you 
want,  please." 

The  straw  was  soon  brought, — two  or  three  offering  to 
help, — and  the  coffin  covered  to  a  sufficient  depth  to  soften 
and  deaden  any  fall  and  sound  of  stone  or  earth.  The 
grave  was  then  rapidly  filled,  and  rounded  over ;  most  of 
the  people  waiting  until  the  work  was  finished ; — a  custom 
which,  though  it  has  a  sufficiently  stoical  look  to  unac- 
customed eyes,  seems  to  have  its  root  in  the  heart's  ten- 
derest  and  softest  feelings.  We  do  not  readily  leave  our 
most  treasured  things  to  be  disposed  of  by  strange  and 
careless  hands. 

When  all  was  done,  the  concourse  broke  up  slowly,  and 
dispersed  itself  over  the  graveyard,  taking  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  to  review  places  consecrated  by  the  ashes 
of  forefathers  and  compatriots,  now  intermixing  indistin- 
guishably,  and  some  of  them,  doubtless,  reappearing  above 
the  earth  in  the  shape  of  grass  and  flowers,  to  show  how 
much  of  old  material  is  inevitably  blended  with  the  fresh- 
est novelty,  of  life,  nature,  or  art.  Mrs.  Divine  and  Mrs. 
Prescott  stood  gravely  by  a  group  of  half-a-dozen,  or  more, 
head-stones,  where  sons,  brothers,  and  husband  had  fallen 
together ;  and  I  strayed  off  by  myself  to  the  oldest  portion 
of  the  ground,  into  which  the  most  ancient  life  of  Shiloh 
had  subsided,  and  began  trying  to  restore  some  of  the  in- 
scriptions, by  scraping  away  the  mosses  and  lichens  from 
the  half-obliterated  letters, — taking  a  quaint  and  sad  pleas- 
7 


14:6  SHILOH. 

ure  in  bringing  back  to  a  temporary  legibility  and  possibil- 
ity of  recognition,  some  name  which  had  long  ago  faded 
out  of  the  village  memory,  and  so  cheating  Oblivion  a  lit- 
tle longer  of  its  prey.  Very  commonplace  names  they 
were,  belonging  to  that  long  roll  which  the  world  willingly 
lets  die ;  not  one  of  them  being  able  to  impart  to  its  mon- 
ument any  historic  interest  or  poetic  immortality,  to  repay 
me  for  my  trouble.  Yet  I  worked  on,  well  pleased  to  see 
them  take  shape  and  meaning  under  my  fingers ;  and 
thankful  to  every  one  of  their  owners  for  having  added 
something  to  the  quaint  impressiveness  and  the  thought- 
fecundity  of  the  place,  by  depositing  his  ashes  there,  and 
causing  the  vaguest  shadow  of  his  shade  to  flit  across 
my  imagination. 

In  some  cases  the  dates  alone  could  be  restored,  the 
forlorn  little  human  identities  being  quite  lost ;  which 
gave  me  a  curious  impression  that  not  people,  but  Years, 
had  laid  themselves  down  under  the  sod ;  as  glad  to  be 
done  with  sunshine  and  snow,  calm  and  tempest,  as  their 
human  bedfellows  with  toil  and  pleasure,  battle  and  bi- 
vouac. It  was  pitiful  to  notice,  I  thought,  following  out 
the  idea,  how  few  of  them  had  signalized  themselves  by 
any  beautiful  or  noble  deeds — any  great  wrong  righted,  or 
wide  redemption  achieved — that  might  tend  to  exalt  their 
memory  above  others ;  in  fact,  the  greater  part  of  those 
which  individualized  themselves  in  my  recollection,  did  it 
in  virtue  of  the  mischief  they  had  wrought.  The  most  of 
them,  however,  were  as  uninteresting  as  their  mortal  com- 
panions,— and  perhaps,  after  all,  were  the  more  to  be 
really  reverenced,  on  that  account.  The  sterling  useful- 
ness of  doing  quiet  duties  in  quiet  ways,  unobtrusively 
and  uncomplainingly,  is  one  which,  though  the  world 
may  make  little  account  of  it,  .God  will  surely  bless  and 
abundantly  reward.  Of  such  humble,  unattractive  lives, 
is  the  Book  of  Life  chiefly  made  up,  I  imagine. 

A  numerous  group  of  head-stones,  all  bearing  one  fam- 


SHILOH.  147 

ily  name,  set  me  upon  another  train  of  thought.  It  was 
good  to  see  in  what  close  and  quiet  proximity  they  lay 
there ;  whatever  difference  of  age,  or  position,  or  opinion, 
whatever  personal  antipathies,  or  jealousies,  or  misapprehen- 
sions, had  kept  them  apart  in  their  lives.  I  doubted  not 
that  I  had  chanced  upon  the  type  of  a  spiritual  reality. 
The  souls  of  the  dead,  probably,  mingle  in  the  great  com- 
pany of  the  Departed,  without  a  thought  of  the  dislikes 
and  repulsions  that  made  some  of  them  so  disagreeable  to 
each  other  on  earth.  A  common  glory  or  a  common  gloom 
unites  them  in  a  close  fraternity  of  hope  or  despair,  joy  or 
misery. 

Finally,  I  ascended  the  topmost  swell  of  the  hill,  and 
sat  down  on  a  fallen  stone  to  consider  the  view, — made  up 
of  a  pretty  curve  of  road,  mottled  with  tree-shadows; 
two  or  three  meadows,  with  grass  so  green  that  it  seemed 
.  to  have  a  lustre  in  it ;  a  bit  of  forest ;  and  an  open,  blue 
eye  of  Rustic's  Pond,  mirroring  the  nearest  objects  with 
a  fidelity  that  might  make  one  doubt  which  was  the  sub- 
stance, which  the  reflection  ; — that  trite  material  of  which 
Nature,  everywhere  and  endlessly,  makes  fresh,  sparkling 
pictures,  each  with  its  own  peculiar  and  exceeding  charm. 
Here,  Mrs.  Divine  came  to  look  for  me. 

Who  can  tell  when  the  day  begins  to  wane  ?  There 
seemed  not  one  sunbeam  the  less,  no  fainter  tints,  no  deeper 
shadows, — yet,  as  we  turned  homeward,  we  felt  a  nameless 
something  in  the  air,  and-  saw  and  heard  it  in  every  hue 
and  tone,  telling  us  that  the  day  was  fading — its  face  al- 
ready turned  toward  the  oncoming  Night. 

And  who  can  tell  when  his  life  begins  to  go  down  the 
hill  ?  Few  ever  realize  that  they  have  passed  its  topmost 
"point,  until  they  are  already  far  down  the  slope  ;  in  sight 
of  the  Valley  of  Shadow  at  its  foot ! 


HEKB    AND   THERE. 

you  were  less  ready  to  play  the  part  of  a 
viaduct,  Francesca,  I  do  not  know  but  I  should 
take  to  writing  to  my  father's  spirit.  I  remem- 
ber being  profoundly  affected,  when  I  was  a 
school  girl,  by  the  information  that  among  the 
posthumous  papers  of  a  certain  shy,  reticent  as- 
sistant teacher,  whom  nobody  ever  seemed  to  un- 
derstand or  fraternize  with,  had  been  found  a 
large  package  of  letters  written  to  an  early  friend,  over 
whose  grave  the  grass  had  grown  green  for  years.  This 
friend  had  been  her  only  confidant  during  her  life ;  and 
after  her  death,  the  lonely  survivor  had  gone  on,  writing  to 
her  just  as  if  she  had  been  alive ; — every  week  adding  a 
closely  written  epistle,  duly  signed,  sealed  and  addressed, 
to  the  growing  pile ;  through  whose  whole  sombre  texture 
ran  a  touching  story  of  long,  wasting  disappointment  and 
heart-ache,  like  a  crimson  thread.  Without  this  resource, 
doubtless  her  poor,  proud,  sensitive  heart  would  have  bro- 
ken somewhat  earlier  than  it  did  !  The  recollection  moves 
me,  even  now.  There  is  an  exquisite  pathos  in  the  lonely 
girl's  fidelity  to  the  one  friendship  of  her  life ;  in  the  confi- 
dence which  death  could  not  break,  nor  the  slow  lapse  of 
sorrowful  years  wear  away.  I  can  almost  see  the  disem- 
bodied spirit  bending  tenderly  over  each  letter  as  it  was 
deposited  in  its  place,  and  reading  its  contents  with  a  face 
of  still  brightness ;  ^pitiful  for  the  momentary  affliction  of 


SHILOH.  149 

her  earth-bound  friend,  but  rejoicing  in  the  knowledge  of 
the  exceeding  glory  for  which  it  was  so  tenderly  preparing 
her. 

Nevertheless,  I  am  glad  that  I  am  writing  for  living 
eyes  and  a  living,  human  sympathy.  For  no  others,  I  am 
certain,  should  I  feel  free  to  set  down  so  many  minute  and 
apparently  trivial  details,  as  are  necessary  to  a  clear  idea  of 
this  Shiloh-life  and  my  growing  connection  with  it. 

The  fortnight  following  the  burial  of  Maggie  Warren 
was  fruitful  only  in  commonplace  events ;  some  of  which, 
however,  require  brief  mention. 

Mr.  Taylor  spent  some  days  in  Shiloh,  visiting  indus- 
triously among  the  people,  and  trying  to  kindle  in  them 
some  small  spark  of  interest  in  response  to  his  own  glowing 
enthusiasm.  They  all  liked  him,  even  the  most  prejudiced 
and  indifferent  among  them, — he  was  so  earnest,  so  genuine, 
there  was  such  a  cheerful  alacrity  in  his  manner,  such  a 
fresh,  breezy  buoyancy  in  his  tone.  There  was  no  resisting 
the  cheerful  contagion  of  his  hopefulness,  or  the  steady, 
stealing  influence  of  his  bright,  ardent,  energetic  talk.  He 
contrived  to  throw  such  an  air  of  reasonableness,  and  even 
of  practicability,  over  whatever  he  proposed  or  planned, 
and  he  had  so  ready  a  response  to  every  objection,  that,  so 
far  as  words  went,  he  soon  had  everything  his  own  way. 
Some  of  those  who  had  been  most  adverse  to  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott's  movement,  and  had  stigmatized  it  as  the  purest  folly, 
were  swept  along  on  the  swift  current  of  his  assertion  and 
argument  almost  to  the  point  of  thinking  that  it  might  be 
a  good  thing,  after  all ;  and  if,  on  reflection,  they  were  in- 
clined to  smile  at  him  as  visionary,  and  at  themselves  for 
their  momentary  conversion,  they  respected  him,  none  the 
less,  for  the  purity  of  his  motives  and  the  unselfishness  of 
his  zeal.  Others,  belonging  to  that  vast  multitude  which, 
in  religious  enterprises,  lets  " '  I  dare  not '  wait  upon  '  I 
would,'  " — shook  their  heads  with  a  kind  of  mournful  pity 
over  the  obstacles  and  the  disappointments  they  foresaw  in 


150  SIIILOI-I. 

his  path ;  but  they  were  deeply  touched,  nevertheless,  by 
his  generous  confidence  in  himself  and  in  them,  and  there 
was  not  a  grain  of  contempt  infused  into  the  pity.  And  all 
this,  despite  his  ways  were  unlike  their  ways,  his  thoughts 
very  different  from  their  thoughts,  his  standards  far  re- 
moved from  their  standards ;  despite,  too,  his  city  breeding, 
and  his  often  amusing  ignorance  of  rural  customs  and  agri- 
cultural lore.  In  these  large,  low,  firelit  farm  kitchens ; 
where  the  grim  shade  of  the  tenacious,  old-time  conserv- 
atism lurks  longest,  and  opposes  the  most  steady  and  de- 
termined resistance  to  innovation ;  his  visit  left  an  influence 
like  that  of  a  fresh  breeze  from  a  mountain  top,  or  a  sun- 
beam struggling  through  a  fog.  And  as  both  these  airy 
visitants,  in  whatever  narrow,  sombre,  or  sordid  place  they 
chance  to  stray,  immediately  create  for  themselves  a  certain 
congruity  and  fitness  in  being  there ;  so  Mr.  Taylor  seemed 
at  once  to  harmonize  with  his  surroundings  : — every  segment 
of  his  character,  in  virtue  of  some  curious,  unsuspected 
agreement  of  apparently  diverse  angles,  dovetailed  into  the 
Shiloh-life,  as  if  it  had  been  made  for  it. 

Having  finished  his  visitation,  and  taken  it  for  granted 
that  everybody  encouraged  him, — because  nobody  could 
long  have  the  hardihood  to  maintain  an  attitude  of  dis- 
couragement against  his  strenuous  hope  and  zeal, — he  went 
his  way  to  arrange  for  the  removal  of  his  family  hither ;  it 
being  understood,  however,  that  he  should  officiate  on  the 
intervening  Sundays. 

A  day  or  two  after,  I  saw,  from  my  window,  Essie 
Volger  approaching  the  house.  She  reined  her  shaggy 
little  Canadian  pony  deftly  up  to  the  gate,  sprang  lightly 
from  the  buggy  to  the  ground,  fastened  the  horse  to  a  post, 
greeted  Uncle  True  cheerily,  whistled  to  Leo,  and  had  well- 
nigh  crossed  the  threshold  before  I  could  get  down  to  meet 
her. 

"  Ah !  Miss  Frost,  it  is  such  a  lovely  day ! "  she  began, 
"  too  lovely,  by  far,  to  waste  indoors ! " 


SHILOH.  151 

"  So  my  senses  have  been  telling  me." 

"  Pray  listen  to  them !     For,  though  I  cannot  say, 

'  My  boat  is  by  the  shore — ' 

my  buggy  is  at  the  door,  and  if  you  will  consent  to  receive 
this  first,  formal  call  of  mine  in  that,  you  can  be  enjoying 
a  drive  at  the  same  time." 

She  took  me  to  the  bank  of  the  Housatonic ;  at  this 
point,  a  clear,  rapid,  curving  stream,  forest-shadowed  on 
one  side,  and  quickly  losing  itself  among  grassy  and 
wooded  hills.  Much  of  the  way  was  by  a  steep  and  hilly 
road,  across  which  the  boughs  of  the  trees  met  and  inter- 
laced; with  here  and  there  picturesque  glimpses  of  the 
winding,  shimmering  stream  below.  At  the  river's  brink, 
we  quitted  the  buggy  and  strolled  down  the  wooded  bank, 
listening  to  the  rippling  current,  and  gathering  ferns  and 
flowers.  Such  an  excursion  is  a  ready  promoter  of  ac- 
quaintance ;  I  came  home  feeling  that  years  of  association, 
however  enjoyable,  could  add  but  little  to  my  knowledge 
of  Miss  Essie.  Not  that  her  character  is  so  shallow,  but 
because  it  is  so  clear.  Sometimes,  the  waters  of  a  fountain 
are  so  pellucid,  allowing  the  shells  and  pebbles  of  its  bed 
to  be  distinctly  seen,  that  a  careless  observer-  is  easily  de- 
ceived in  regard  to  its  depth.  And  not  every  one,  seeing 
her  so  frank,  so  open, — -so  sparkling,  too, — would  give  her 
credit  for  the  real  depth  and  strength  of  her  pure,  womanly 
nature. 

It  was  a  little  thing  that  gave  me  the  opportunity  of 
•measuring  it  more  accurately.  • 

"This  dear  old  river!"  she  exclaimed,  dipping  her 
fingers  into  it,  caressingly.  "  It  is  like  a  friend !  I  have 
known  and  loved  it  from  childhood." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  it  is  the  same  '  old  river  ? '  "  I  asked. 
"  Recollect  that,  though  you  may  always  have  seen  the 
same  shape  of  flood,  you  have  never  looked  twice  upon  the 
same  waves." 


152  SHILOH. 

The  thought  seemed  to  strike  her.  "  Never  the  same 
waves  ! "  she  repeated,  musingly ;  "  never  the  same  waves ! 
"Where,  then,  are  those  I  saw  so  long  ago  ?  " 

"  Gone.  Swallowed  up  by  the  vast,  distant  ocean. 
Where  are  the  friends  of  your  early  days  ?  " 

She  looked  at  me  earnestly,  and  her  cheek  glowed. 
"  They  are  not  gone  !  I  see  every  one  of  the  old  waves 
in  these :  if  I  did  not,  I  should  not  care  for  them.  And 
the  old  friends !  it  is  for  their  sakes  that  I  love  the  new 
ones !  Should  I  care  for  the  new,  if  I  had  not  loved  the 
old  so  well  ?  They  taught  me  to  love  Love,  as  the  former 
waves  taught  me  to  love  the  River !  " 

Mrs.  Danforth  made  me  her  promised  call ;  and  from  a 
large  mass  of  vivacious,  often  witty,  but  utterly  immemor- 
able  talk,  I  gleaned  a  few  facts  which  throw  a  clearer  light 
on  her  character,  and  the  reason  of  her  sojourn  in  a  place 
so  apparently  uncongenial  to  her  education  and  tempera- 
ment as  Shiloh.  Her  husband  is  gone  to  Europe,  to  exam- 
ine into  certain  business  transactions,  which  may,  and  may 
not,  have  a  disastrous  termination  ;  and,  during  his  absence, 
it  was  thought  desirable  for  herself,  and  almost  indispensa- 
ble to  the  physical  well-being  of  her  children,  to  find  some 
retired  and  healthful  spot,  where  she  could  live  in  a  natural, 
simple  way, — so  far  as  it  was  possible  to  one  of  her  sophis- 
ticated habits  and  tastes, — free  from  the  cares,  the  excite- 
ments, and  the  expensiveness  of  fashionable  life. 

"  And  I  thought,  when  I  came  here,"  she  went  on, 
laughing,  "  that  I  should  live  in  Shiloh  on  the  let-alone 
principle  entirely.  But  bless  me  !  I  was  never  made  for  a 
recluse.  There  are  times  when  I  must  talk  to  somebody,  if 
it  is  only  a  tin-peddler, — I  am  absolutely  pining  for  the 
music  of  my  own  voice,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it !  I 
was  in  one  of  those  moods  when  Mrs.  Prescott  first  came  to 
me,  to  bespeak  my  assistance  for  her  Sewing  Society ;  and 
when  she  held  out  the  prospect  of  a  Fair,  by  and  by,  I  tell 
you,  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation.  For  if  there  is  any- 


SHILOH.  153 

thing  I  really  enjoy,  next  to  knitting  worsteds  (and  one  fol- 
lows as  naturally  after  the  other  as  a  horse's  heels  after  his 
head) ;  and  if  there  is  anything  for  which  I  have  a  true 
genius,  it  is  putting  through  Fairs.  I  have  had  something 
to  do  with  every  large  movement  of  the  sort  in  New  York, 
for  the  last  ten  years ;  and  like  Alexander,  I  am  burning 
for  new  worlds  to  conquer.  And  I  suspected  I  should  have 
some  novel  and  rich  experiences  in  a  place  like  Shiloh. 
And  when  I  went  to  Mrs.  Seber's  that  day,  and  saw  that 
queer  company,  with  their  old  fashioned  gowns,  and  their 
quaint  phraseology, — above  all,  when  I  encountered  the 
Vocabulary — I  beg  her  pardon,  but  that  is  the  only  name 
I  can  ever  think  of,  in  her  connection  ! — I  was  convinced 
that  I  should  find  plenty  of  amusement  in  a  taste  of  Shi- 
loh life,  if  not  much  profit ;  so  I  determined  to  '  go  in,'  and 
have  a  good  time.  I  suppose  you  felt  the  same  way." 

"  Well,  no,  Mrs.  Danforth,  I  confess  that  I  was  so 
foolish,  or  so  mercenary,  as  to  have  an  eye  to  the  profit, 
too." 

She  looked  extremely  puzzled. 

"  I  mean,"  continued  I,  rather  lightly,  for  I  felt  the  ab- 
surdity of  making  a  very  serious  matter  of  her  careless  talk, 
"  that  sort  of  profit  which  is  supposed  somehow  to  accrue 
from  the  doing  of  one's  duty,  in  that  state  of  life  where- 
unto  one  is  called." 

For  a  moment  she  seemed  almost  confused.  Then  she 
said,  somewhat  more  earnestly  than  her  wont,  "  Do  not  set 
me  down  for  such  an  unmitigated  heathen,  Miss  Frost.  I 
exaggerate  my  own  defects.  Not  even  the  prospect  of  any 
amount  of  laughing  matter,  would  have  made  me  accept 
the  Presidency  of  that  Society,  if  I  had  not  been  sure  that 
I  could  do  them  good  service.  Still,"  she  added,  dropping 
back  into  her  usual  careless  manner,  "  I  do  not  know  as  I 
should  have  been  won  over  so  easily,  without  the  promise 
of  a  spice  of  fun  in  the  good  work,  and  the  expectation  of 
an  opportunity,  ere  long,  to  disport  myself  in  my  natural 
7* 


154:  SHILOH. 

element ;  namely  a  Fair.  So  you  can  credit  me  with  half 
heathenism,  after  all." 

Which  I  am  afraid  I  did,  in  spite  of  Bona's  whispered 
warning,  "  Judge  not,  lest  ye  be  judged." 

I  was  deeply  impressed,  however,  by  the  fact  that  Mrs. 
Danforth,  like  myself, — though  from  a  different  motive, — 
had  come  to  Shiloh  resolving  to  stand  aloof  from  its  social 
life.  In  neither  case,  had  the  resolve  been  kept.  In  both 
instances,  it  had,  plainly,  been  broken  of  deliberate  choice. 
I  could  not  find  the  first  trace  of  that  grim  finger  of  Fatal- 
ity in  it,  upon  which  so  many  persons  seek  to  throw  the  res- 
ponsibility of  their  doings — when  their  tendency  is  evil,  or 
their  results  disastrous  ;  for  it  is  impossible  not  to  notice 
that  all  such  are  ready  enough  to  assume  the  credit  of 
whatever  good  they  accomplish.  Plainly,  too,  Shiloh  was 
not  to  be  a  "  place  of  rest "  to  Mrs.  Danforth,  much  more 
than  to  myself.  Instead  of  repose,  God  had  given  us  work. 
Was  that,  then,  a  better  thing  ? 

The  Sewing  Society  held  its  regular  meetings ;  and  leg- 
islation being  over,  for  the  present,  a  tolerable  degree  of 
harmony  characterized  its  labors.  If,  in  the  opinion  of  its 
President,  amusement  was  the  chief  end  of  life,  she  knew 
how  to  give,  as  well  as  get ; — indeed,  it  was  currently  re- 
ported that  certain  heretofore  intermittent  and  intractable 
members,  now  attended  regularly  and  worked  with  docility, 
just  for  the  sake  of  hearing  Mrs.  Danforth's  talk  ; — or,  as 
one  of  them  said,  with  an  unconscious  recognition  of  the 
fact  that  its  charm  was  more  in  the  manner  than  the  mat- 
ter, and  addressed  itself  quite  as  much  to  the  eye  as  the 
ear,  "  to  see  her  talk." 

Death  did  not  reap  his  full  harvest  in  Mr.  Warren's 
household.  The  fever  shortly  appeared  in  the  dwellings  of 
two  of  his  neighbors, — neighbors,  too,  of  that  marsh,  on 
whose  vicinage  Mrs.  Divine  had  charged  the  origination  of 
the  disease.  In  one  instance,  it  ran  almost  uninterruptedly 
through  an  entire  family ;  the  father  and  two  children 


SHILOH.  155 

died,  and  the  mother  struggled  blindly  back  from  the  very 
threshold  of  the  grave  into  an  atmosphere  of  such  desola- 
tion and  loneliness,  that  she  knew  not  how  to  be  thankful 
for  the  staying  of  the  Destroyer's  hands.  Of  course,  it 
was  difficult  to  draw  the  needful  supply  of  watchers  from 
the  hard- worked  and  scattered  neighborhood ;  and  my  ser- 
vices were  again  called  in  requisition.  It  soon  came  to  be 
well  understood  that,  when  other  assistance  was  not  availa-  f 
ble,  Winnie  Frost  could  be  counted  on  with  certainty  ;  and 
a  native  delicacy  of  feeling,  which  I  should  scarcely  have 
looked  for  in  such  a  quarter,  prevented  me  from  being 
called  upon  until  all  more  legitimate  resources  had  been 
tried  and  failed.  Beyond  these  two  houses,  however,  the 
fever  did  not  pass ;  and  the  latest  cases  were  of  a  mild 
type,  easily  controlled,  and  quickly  conquered ; — but  not 
until  these  humble  services  of  mine,  freely  given  wherever 
asked,  had  brought  me  very  near  to  the  Shiloh  heart,  and 
won  for  me  a  degree  of  affectionate  respect  and  considera- 
tion which  often  brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  and  gave  me  a 
deeper  insight  into  the  hidden  harmonies  of  God's  govern- 
ment of  the  world.  There  are  sweetnesses  only  to  be  dis- 
tilled from  bitternesses ! 

I  have  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  most  of  the  hills, 
dales,  meadows,  woodlands,  and  other  natural  objects  of 
interest,  to  be  found  on  the  Divine  Farm,  or  in  its  near  vi- 
cinity. The  various  prominences  of  Chestnut  Hill  afford 
many  pretty  views ;  through  the  most  striking  of  wliich 
the  distant  Housatonic  goes  winding  and  shining,  like  a 
narrow  strip  of  a  bluer  and  more  lustrous  sky.  But  I  have 
found  no  prettier  haunt,  anywhere,  than  the  brook-lit  glen, 
before  described ;  and  there  I  have  spent  many  an  hour, 
book  or  portfolio  in  hand.  For  it  is  a  dreamy  spot,  with- 
out them ;  and,  as  yet,  I  do  not  dare  to  dream  ! 

In  many  of  my  rambles  by  day,  and  in  all  of  my  night- 
walks  to  and  fro  from  sick  beds,  Leo  is  my  silent,  watchful, 
trusty  attendant ;  giving  me  a  pleasant  sense  of  compan- 


156  SHILOH. 

ionship  and  protection,  without  any  drawback  of  con- 
straint. Mr.  Divine's  flattering  introduction  did  him  no 
more  than  justice  ;  his  strength,  intelligence,  and  faithful- 
ness are  really  wonderful.  He  is  delighted  to  carry  my 
shawl,  book  or  basket ;  he  bears  with  ease  many  a  burden 
that  would  be  very  wearisome  to  me.  He  can  be  sent 
home — the  swiftest  of  messengers  ! — with  an  explanatory 
slip  of  paper,  to  fetch  any  article  forgotten  or  unexpect- 
edly required.  He  knows  the  nearest  neighbors,  and  most 
intimate  friends  of  the  household,  by  name,  and  can  be  dis- 
patched to  any  one  of  them  with  a  note  or  a  parcel.  He 
can  be  left  anywhere,  in  charge  of  anything,  and  the  watch 
and  ward  will  be  patiently,  conscientiously  kept. 

Nor  is  Leo  so  unobservant  of  my  moods  as  might  be 
supposed.  Often,  when  my  book  slips  from  my  fingers, 
and  my  eyes  stare  into  vacancy  (or  some  less  profitable 
quarter  !)  till  they  are  dim  with  unfelt  moisture, — it  is  Leo 
that  recalls  me  to  myself,  with  his  head  laid  on  my  knee, 
in  token  of  sympathy,  or  his  nose  thrust  into  my  hand,  by 
way  of  remonstrance.  And  his  wistful  eyes  say,  as  plainly 
as  any  tongue  could  do,  "  Would  it  not  be  better  to  drop 
that,  now,  and  go  home  ?  " 

Not  long  since,  Aunt  Vin  and  I  divided  a  certain  night- 
vigil  between  us.  I  took  the  first  watch  ;  and  when  it  was 
over,  Leo  (whom  I  had  retained  for  that  purpose)  escorted 
me  home.  To  my  surprise,  I  found  Mrs.  Divine  quietly 
reading  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

"  I  generally  sit  up  till  midnight  and  after,"  she  ex- 
plained. "  It's  about  the  only  time  I  get  for  reading,  and 
I  can't  live  without  that.  And  I  thought  may  be  you'd  be 
chilly  when  you  come  in,  and  a  little  fire  wouldn't  be 
amiss." 

Then  she  looked  at  Leo.  "  That  dog  takes  an  uncom- 
mon fancy  to  you,  Miss  Frost." 

I.  (thoughtfully  patting  Leo's  head).  '  Happy ' — says  an 
Eastern  sage — '  happy  he  that  hath  a  dog  for  his  friend.'— 


SHILOH.  15T 

MRS.  DIVINE.  TJmph  !  it  needn't  have  taken  a  sage  to 
say  that ! 

I.  You  did  not  hear  him  out.  He  adds,  '  Happier  he 
that  hath  a  dog  alone  ! ' 

MRS.  DIVIXE  (contemptuously).  A  sage  ?  Nothing  but 
a  cynic !  Leo,  there,  is  wiser.  He  would  say — if  he  could 
speak — that  he'd  rather  have  you  for  his  friend  than  half- 
a-dozen  dogs  ! 

To  which  argumentum  ad  canem  neither  the  Eastern 
sage  nor  I  had  anything  to  say. 

Pardon  this  digression — if  a  digression  it  be !  In  coun- 
try life,  animals  hold  an  important  place.  Dogs,  horses, 
chickens,  may  fairly  be  counted  members  of  the  social 
circle. 

On  the  second  Sunday  after  the  one  of  which  I  have 
given  such  faithful  and  voluminous  account,  Ruth  Win- 
not's  birdlike  voice  again  charmed  my  ear,  and  recalled  to 
my  memory  the  resolve  made,  at  Bona's  instigation,  a  fort- 
night before ;  which,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  had  suffered 
to  slip  from  my  mind,  amid  the  multiplicity  of  my  interests 
and  occupations.  My  faithful  Mentor  did  not  fail  to  im- 
prove the  opportunity  to  administer  a  reprimand  and  an 
admonition. 

"  Remember  that  your  talents  were  not  given  you,"  she 
concluded,  "  to  be  buried  in  a  napkin,  when  you  cease  to 
care  for  them,  nor  to  be  exercised  merely  for  your  pleas- 
ure or  that  of  your  friends  ;  their  possession  involves  a  fear- 
ful responsibility.  God  expects  to  receive  His  own  again, 
with  usury." 

That  very  evening,  I  sought  out  my  hostess.  "Mrs. 
Divine,  tell  me  something  about  Ruth  Winnot,  please." 

"Ruth  Winnot!"  repeated  the  old  lady,  wiping  her 
spectacles,  preparatory  to  taking  a  wondering  view  of  me, — 
"  there's  nothing  to  tell,  that  I  know  of,  only  that  she's 
Farmer  Winnot's  daughter,  and  lives  in  that  red  house,  up 
on  the  hill,  there." 


158  .  SHILOH. 

"But  what  makes  her  look  so  sad?  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  it's  on  account  of  her  feet." 

"  Her  feet !  "  I  repeated,  in  amaze. 

"  Yes.  Didn't  you  know  she  had  crooked  feet — club- 
feet,  some  folks  call  'em.  She  was  born  so." 

"  And  why  were  they  never  straightened  ?  " 

"Well,  her  mother  couldn't  make  up  her  mind  to  see  the 
child  suffer ; — some  mothers  can't — or  won't — do  that,  you 
know,  even  when  it's  for  their  children's  plain  good.  If 
God  had  felt  like  that,  I  wonder  where  mankind  would  be 
now !  And  Ruth  has  grown  up  so  delicate,  that  the  doc- 
tors don't  advise  the  straightening,  at  present.  But  she's 
awfully  sensitive  about  her  feet,  poor  thing !  She  never 
goes  anywhere,  hardly,  except  to  church ;  and  she  always 
takes  good  care  to  get  there  before  other  folks  come,  and 
waits  till  they  are  gone,  before  she  leaves." 

"  Ah !  yes,"  said  I,  "  I  remember  that  she  remained  in 
the  gallery  all  alone,  on  the  day  of  Maggie  Warren's  fu- 
neral, when  Alice  and  I  went  down  stairs.  I  wondered  at 
it,  then." 

"She  always  does  so.  And  her  mother  told  me  she 
couldn't  bear  to  have  a  word  said  to  her  about  her  feet, 
even  by  her ;  and  Alice — who  is  more  intimate  with  her 
than  anybody  else — says  that  she  never  heard  her  so  much 
as  hint  at  them,  in  the  most  distant  manner.  But  I  don't 
think  there's  any  sense  in  letting  her  go  on  in  that  way.  I 
told  her  mother  it  would  be  real  good  for  her  to  be  made 
to  talk  about  them  (a  thing  you  can't  talk  about,  always 
seems  twice  as  bad  as  it  is),  and  that  she  ought  to  try  and 
overcome  her  dislike  to  going  among  folks.  She's  getting 
into  a  downright  unhealthy,  morbid  way  ;  and  something 
ought  to  be  done  about  it,  I  think.  Come,  there's  another 
chance  for  you  to  do  good,  Miss  Frost, — and  you  seem  to 
be  on  the  lookout  for  all  such." 

The  next  morning  I  despatched  the  following  laconic 
epistle  to  Uncle  John ;  having  before  my  eyes  the  fear 


SHILOH.  159 

of  sundry  pishes !  and  pshaws !  that  I  had  heard  him 
utter  over  Flora's  letters;  wherein  demands  for  money, 
and  commissions,  were  so  mixed  up  with  foreign  matter 
that  he  declared  himself  unable  to  get  at  what  was 
wanted,  except  by  a  careful  process  of  sifting  and  tak- 
ing notes : 

"Shiloh,  June  15,  186— 

"  Dear  Uncle :  Please  send  up  my  piano,  at  your  con- 
venience, marked,  '  Care  of  Reuben  Divine,  Mumford  de- 
pot, &c.'  Also,  my  music-stand,  with  contents.  The 
roses  have  not  budded  yet,  but  I  have  planted  the 

seeds. 

"  Your  affectionate  niece, 

"  WINNIE  FROST." 
To  which,  in  due  course  of  time,  I  received  this  answer : 

"  New  York,  Wall  St.,  June  16th,  186— 
"  Dear  Niece :  Piano  sent  to-day,  as  per  order,  freight 
pd.     Enclosed  please  find  check  for  fifty  dollars  ($50),  on 
acct.  for  two  full-blown  roses,  to  be  delivered  as  per  agree- 
ment.    Glad  you  can  write  a  sensible  letter. 
"  Your  affectionate  uncle, 

"JOHN  FROST." 

I  smiled  to  see  that  this  document  had  been  signed, 
from  force  of  habit,  "  John  Frost  &  Co. ; "  but  the  writer 
had  bethought  himself  in  time  to  draw  his  pen  through  the 
words  indicating  copartnership,  and  save  me  from  the  dis- 
mal conviction  that  the  nearest  relative  I  had  in  the  world, 
had  sunken  his  personal,  flesh-and-blood  identity  in  the 
mere  abstraction  of  a  firm.  Yet  the  smile  was  inextricably 
entangled  with  a  tear ; — to  be  sure,  it  did-  not  need  my 
uncle's  prompt  compliance  with  my  request,  nor  his  check, 
to  assure  me  that  he  loved  the  child  of  his  dead  brother, 
in  the  depths  of  his  heart ;  but  he  was  so  undemonstrative 
a  man,  outwardly,  that  it  required  an  effort  of  the  reason 
and  the  will,  sometimes,  to  hold  fast  to  that  truth.  "  Deeds, 
not  words,"  was  the  motto  of  his  affections. 


160  SHILOH. 

The  piano — that  piano  which  I  never  intended  to  touch 
again ! — was  duly  installed  in  the  "  out-room ; "  and  I  inau- 
gurated its  mission  (for  it  has  one  !)  by  playing  a  polka  or 
two  for  "  the  boys  " — a  term  which  Mr.  Divine  seems  to 
apply  indiscriminately  to  his  grown-up  sons  and  his  hired 
men, — a  nocturne  for  Alice,  and  two  or  three  sweet  old 
Scotch  melodies  for  the  elder  members  of  the  household.  I 
dared  not  yet  trust  myself  to  sing, — that  was  too  full  of 
stinging  memories ! 

Then,  I  set  out  to  find  Ruth  Winnot. 


XVI. 

RUTH    WINNOT. 

(emphatically).  You  know  you  cannot 
expect  to  get  much,  without  giving  some- 
thing. 

I  winced.      Confidence  was  the  one  thing  I 
was  unprepared  to  give. 

MALA  (chiming  in  with  my  mood).  You 
know  the  giving  will  be  like  pressing  on  a 
raw  sore ;  and  the  getting  will  not  heal  it. 
BOXA.  No,  only  help  to  heal  it.  As  whole  acres  of  Per- 
sian roses  are  required  to  make  a  single  ounce  of  pure  ottar ; 
so  the  soul's  balm  is  the  slow  product  of  a  long  course  of 
right  living  and  thinking, — every  separate  act  and  thought 
of  which  contributes  its  own  minute  but  precious  particle 
of  sweetness  to  the  rich  result. 

MALA.  But,  after  all,  how  hard  it  is  to  have  to  take  up 
with  hurt  and  healing,  instead  of  happiness  ! 

BONA.  How  hard  it  is  for  the  roses  to  be  plucked  and 
pressed,  and  to  have  their  sweetness  concentrated  and  pre- 
served, instead  of  perishing  utterly  from  the  earth  by  the 
natural  process  of  decay ! 

MALA.  Nonsense !  I  am  talking  of  a  living,  beating, 
human  heart.  Of  course,  the  roses  are  inanimate  things, 
and  feel  nothing. 

BONA.  If  they  did  feel,  might  they  not  reasonably  pre- 
fer the  short  pain  of  the  process  that  makes  them  imperish- 
ably  useful  and  delightful,  to  a  few  more  hours  of  idle 


162  SHILOH. 

bloom  in  the  sunshine,  and  then  to  die  unredeemably  ? 
And  like  the  ottar  of  roses,  the  sweetest  Christian  graces 
are  the  product  of  painful  processes ;  but  they  are  ever- 
lastingly lovely  and  fragrant,  continuing  to  sweeten  and 
beautify  the  earth,  by  their  memory  and  their  influence, 
long  after  their  owner  has  entered  into  the  "better  country." 
As"  for  happiness,  it  seldom  comes  otherwise  than  incident- 
ally ;  it  is  as  frequently  found  sitting  by  the  wayside,  in 
the  paths  through  which  Sorrow  leads  us,  as  elsewhere ;  and 
re  oftenest  entertain  it,  as  Lot  did  the  angels,  unawares. 

This,  and  much  more,  did  my  companions  say  to  me,  as 
I  toiled  up  the  steep  slope  of  Chestnut  Hill.  The  twilight 
was  creeping  stealthily  along  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and 
gathering  under  the  trees  ;  but  the  sky  was  still  tender 
with  the  glory  of  sunset,  and  the  earth  had  a  look  of  veiled 
splendor.  So  far  as  my  impressions  go,  these  Shiloh  sum- 
mer-days have  neither  beginning  nor  end.  I  wake  at  an 
early  hour,  to  find  the  sun  shining  brightly  into  my 
room — unhindered  by  any  barricades  of  brick  walls,  which 
must  needs  be  surmounted  before  he  can  look  at  me.  I  live 
through  some  smooth-gliding,  unreckoned  hours,  softly 
colored  by  a  gentle  lapse  of  quiet  incident,  and  I  frequently 
go  to  bed  while  there  is  yet  enough  of  daylight  to  show  me 
the  way  thither.  When  I  get  a  letter  from  Flora,  full  of 
Sai-atoga  excitement  and  midnight  gayeties,  I  rub  my  eyes, 
and  vaguely  wonder  if  I  am  asleep,  or  if  I  died  three  weeks 
ago,  and  was  transported  to  a  new  planet,  and  new  condi- 
tions of  existence ! 

The  red  homestead  of  the  Winnots,  ringed  round  with 
bossy  maples,  is  another  of  those  quaint,  ample,  sloping- 
roofed  structures ;  through  whose  shadowy  vista  one  gets 
a  glimpse  of  colonial  times,  or  of  the  thunder-clouded  days 
that  preceded  the  Revolution.  It  was  a  gorgeous  bit  of 
color,  to-night ;  with  the  western  splendor  in  its  windows ; 
the  rose-bushes — heavy  with  bloom — clinging  to  its  sides ; 
and  the  smoke  from  its  huge  stone  chimney  aerialized  into 


SHILOH  163 

delicate,  rose-tinged  haze,  as  it  floated  upward  to  the  sky. 
There  were  flower-beds  in  the  front  yard,  too ;  bright  with 
a  goodly  show  of  pinks,  button-roses,  sweet  peas,  marigolds 
and  other  old-fashioned  flowers, — the  legacy  of  our  English 
forefathers,  and  bearing  touching  witness  to  the  fact  that 
those  stern-browed  Puritans  (whose  portraits  time  and  cir- 
cumstance seem  to  delight  in  making  grimmer  and  harder, 
day  by  day),  had,  at  least,  one  soft  trait  in  their  characters; 
inasmuch  as  they  could  not  tear  their  heart-roots  from  their 
native  soil,  without  bringing  along  with  them  some  com- 
vpanion-growths,  to  give  a  familiar,  home  grace  to  the  new 
land.  And  this,  too,  notwithstanding  it  was,  to  them,  the 
land  of  promise ! 

Over  one  of  these  beds  Ruth  Winnot  was  stooping,  with 
some  sort  of  garden  implement  hi  her  hand.  The  creaking 
of  the  gate,  as  I  swung  it  open,  was  plainly  a  startling  and 
unwelcome  sound.  She  threw  one  scared  glance  at  me,  and 
another  at  the  house,  as  if  to  certify  herself  that  escape  was 
impossible ;  then,  she  rose  to  her  feet,  and  awaited  my  ap- 
proach, while  the  color  came  and  went  in  her  cheeks,  like 
the  flashes  of  a  northern  aurora.  For  one  moment,  the 
sight  made  me  hesitate  in  the  line  of  conduct  I  had  marked 
out  for  myself. 

MALA.  Go  on.  What  can  it  possibly  matter  to  you 
whether  you  succeed  or  fail  ? 

BONA.  Go  on.  By  God's  grace,  you  shall  succeed  and 
not  fail. 

Without  stopping  to  consider  why  it  is  that,  on  certain 
occasions,  both  the  good  and  the  evil  in  me  unite  in  push- 
ing me  forward,  or  holding  me  back, — though  I  was  struck 
by  the  fact, — I  went  to  Ruth,  and  said,  taking  her  hand, 

"  You  did  not  expect  to  see  me  here  this  evening ;  but 
I  hope  you  will  make  me  very  welcome,  nevertheless.  The 
truth  is,  I  fell  in  love  with  your  brown  eyes,  two  Sundays 
ago ;  and  I  have  been  wishing  to  get  another  look  at  them, 
ever  since,  just  to  satisfy  myself  that  they  really  are  as 


1 64  SHILOH. 

lovely  as  they  seemed  to  me  then.  Turn  to  the  light, 
please, — here,  this  way, — and  let  me  see  them  again.  Ah, 
yes — there  was  no  illusion  about  it ;  they  are,  in  truth, 
just  such  as  some  of  the  old  masters  always  gave  to  the 
Virgin.  And  your  hair  is  exactly  the  color  that  befits  the 
eyes.  If  I  were  an  artist,  I  should  ask  you  to  sit  to  me." 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  changeful  blending  of  surprise, 
delight  and  doubt,  in  her  face ;  precisely  what  I  expected 
to  see.  I  had  understood,  from  Mrs.  Divine's  statement, 
that  her  painful  consciousness  of  deformity,  unwisely  in- 
dulged and  fostered,  had  made  her  forget,  or  undervalue,  *• 
whatever  compensating  grace  or  talent  had  been  vouch- 
safed to  her ;  and  I  reasoned  that  she  needed  just  that  kind 
and  degree  of  encouragement  which  would  spring  from 
the  knowledge  that  she  was,  otherwise,  rarely  beautiful, 
and  could,  in  spite  of  her  defect,  charni  the  eye,  and  at- 
tract the  regard  of  a  stranger.  There  was  no  danger  of 
making  her  vain ; — the  recollection  of  her  deformity  would 
counteract  that  tendency ;  but  it  was  really  necessary  that 
she  should  be  taught  rightly  to  estimate  the  advantages 
she  possessed,  and  made  acquainted  with  her  own  power 
of  pleasing ;  in  order  to  enable  her  to  face  her  kind  with 
some  degree  of  confidence.  There  was  plenty  of  common 
ground  left,  I  thought,  somewhat  morosely,  for  her  to 
stand  upon  with  them !  For  surely,  each  one  of  us  is  an- 
swerable, in  his  measure,  for  the  perpetuation  of  that  sin 
which  brought  disease  and  deformity  into  the  world  ;  and 
wofully  superficial  is  the  pride  of  such  as  fancy  that  they 
have  the  right  to  look  superciliously  down  upon  these  its 
unfortunate  progeny.  Till  this  entire  human  nature  be 
straightened,  each  and  all  of  us  must  be,  in  some  wise, 
crooked.  And  the  outward  deformity  is  far  less  deplorable 
than  the  inward.  /  The  vital  point  to  us  all  is,  to  learn  our- 
selves, and  to  teach  others,  ho'w  to  convert  these  grievous 
burdens,  heavy  to  bear!  these  multiplying  hindrances, 
weary  to  surmount !  into  crosses,  borne  cheerfully  for 


SHILOH.  165 

Christ's  sake,  steps  by  which  we  daily  climb  nearer  to 
Him! 

Ruth's  eyes  fell,  tinder  my  intent  gaze  ;  while  astonish- 
ment and  pleasure  seemed  actually  to  have  taken  her  breath 
away.  She  tried  to  find  some  words  of  answer  ;  but  her 
voice  failed  her,  and  only  a  few  incoherent  syllables  escaped 
her  lips. 

"  So  nobody  ever  told  you  that  you  were  beautiful  be- 
fore ! "  I  said,  smiling.  "  Well,  I  should  not,  if  I  thought 
it  would  do  you  any  harm." 

"  It  has  done  me  good,"  she  faltered, — "  you  don't  know 
how  much  good !  "  And  she  burst  into  a  sudden  passion 
of  tears.  When  she  lifted  her  head,  there  was  a  return  of 
doubt  in  her  face.  "  Are  you*only  trying  to  flatter  me  ?" 
she  asked,  with  a  searching  look. 

"  I  am  no  flatterer,  Ruth,"  I  responded,  gravely.  "  In 
good  truth,  I  was  irresistibly  attracted  by  your  face,  when 
I  first  saw  you ;  and  I  am  really  desirous  of  knowing  you 
better.  Indeed,  I  came  here  this  evening,  with  Jhe  inten- 
tion— if  I  found  encouragement  enough — of  asking  you  if 
we  might  not  be  friends." 

"  I  suppose  so — if  you  are  in  earnest,"  replied  she,  evi- 
dently confounded  by  the  request.  "  But  it  is  so  strange  !  " 
she  went  on,  with  a  kind  of  slow  wonder, — "  nobody  ever 
seemed  to  care  for  my  friendship  before — but  Alice.  And 
you — a  city  lady — who  know  so  much — and  must  have 
troops  of  friends — I  can't  understand  it !  " 

"  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  should,"  I  responded, 
quietly.  "  The  best  and  closest  friends  understand  each 
other  none  too  well ;  and  there  must  be  a  large  element  of 
faith  in  any  friendship  worth  talking  about.  It  is  as  vital 
a  necessity  as  it  is  in  religion.  All  you  have  to  do  is  just 
to  look  into  my  eyes,  and  make  up  your  mind  whether  you 
can  trust  me,  or  no." 

She  gave  me  a  shy,  yet  sufficiently  penetrating,  glance, 
and  then  mutely  offered  me  a  kiss  by  way  of  answer. 


166  SHILOH. 

"  It  is  a  compact,  then,"  said  I,  accepting  the  gage  <Tam- 
iti& ;  "  and  I  promise  to  be  faithful  to  you,  Ruth, — and 
helpful,  so  far  as  in  me  lies.  That  is  about  all  I  can  prom- 
ise ;  for  I  have  perversities  of  temper  and  worries  of  heart 
which  will  sometimes  make  me  preoccupied  and  unrespon- 
sive. But  be  sure,  when  you  see  my  face  clouded,  that  the 
shadow  comes  from  things  with  which  you  have  nothing  to 
do,  and  which  you  need  not  trouble  your  innocent  heart 
about." 

"  I  understand  that  well  enough,"  she  replied,  with  a 
wise  little  shake  of  the  head,  and  a  smile  that  was  bur- 
dened somewhat  with  sadness.  "  I  know  I  am  not  like- 
ly to  do  anything  to  give  you  either  much  pain  or  pleas- 
ure ;  and  I  don't  expect  to  be  taken  very  far  into  your 
confidence.  I  shall  be  just  like  a  little  pet  dog  to  you ; 
glad  to  be  noticed,  patient  when  I  am  turned  off;  and  all 
the  tune  trying  vainly  to  understand  what  is  in  your 
mind." 

I  was  compelled  to  recognize  a  degree  of  appositeness 
in  this  simile,  even  while  it  pained  my  ear.  There  was 
something  in  Ruth's  soft  brown  eyes,  curiously  like  the 
dumb,  beseeching,  pathetic  expression  of  an  intelligent 
dog's  face, — the  look  of  an  undeveloped,  yearning,  strug- 
gling genius,  dimly  conscious  of  things  above  and  beyond 
it ;  to  which  it  was  meant  to  aspire,  yet  without  in  the  least 
knowing  how.  It  went  to  my  heart,  when  I  first  saw  it ; 
and  I  now  resolved  that,  God  helping  me,  before  Ruth  and 
I  had  done  with  each  other,  that  look  should  have  departed 
from  her  face. 

"  I  will  not  offer  any  counter  prediction,"  I  rejoined, 
"  though  my  oracles  of  futurity  read  very  differently  from 
that,  Ruth.  Humility  is  so  good  and  safe  a  thing  that  you 
may  keep  it — while  you  can."  I  turned  to  the  flower-bed 
for  a  change  of  subject.  "  So  you  love  flowers  ?  As  well 
as  music  ?  " 

"Nearly,  not  quite.   ^Let  me  give  you  some."     And 


SHILOH.  167 

she  quickly  made  me  a  bouquet  from  the  plants  nearest 
her. 

All  this  time,  we  had  been  standing  in  the  yard,  and 
Ruth  had  not  moved  more  than  a  step  or  two  from  the  spot 
where  I  first  encountered  her.  Now,  she  cast  a  troubled 
glance  at  the  open  door,  and  a  shadow  crossed  her  face. 
Plainly,  she  saw  the  necessity  of  asking  me  to  enter  the 
house;  as  plainly,  she  disliked  to  move  in  my  presence. 
But  in  this  matter,  I  had  determined  to  show  no  mercy.  I 
drew  my  shawl  closer  around  my  shoulders,  and  remarked 
that  the  evening  air  was  "  really  quite  chilly." 

"  Will  you  come  in  ?  "  she  returned,  with  a  heightened 
color,  and  a  visible  effort  at  cordiality.  * 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  I,  turning  with  her,  and  putting 
my  arm  around  her  waist.  She  walked  better  than  I  had 
expected.  There  was  no  limp,  only  a  kind  of  awkwardness, 
in  her  gait ;  and  she  wore  her  dress  so  long  as  entirely  to 
conceal  her  feet.  I  was  inwardly  indignant  that  any  mis- 
taken tenderness  should  have  allowed  her  to  become  so 
sore  over  so  inconsiderable  an  infirmity,  and  to  put  it  like  a 
barrier  between  herself  and  her  kind. 

"  Ruth,"  I  asked,  abruptly,  but  in  the  most  matter-of- 
fact  way,  "  how  far  can  you  walk  ?  " 

She  started  and  tried  to  shrink  away  from  me,  as  a 
mimosa  might  have  done ;  but  I  held  her  fast,  and  waited 
for  my  answer  in  the  most  uncomprehending  manner. 

"  I  don't  know — I  never  walk  much," — hesitatingly. 

"  So  I  should  judge  from  your  pale  face  " — (repressing  a 
smile  to  see  how  very  far  from  a  "  pale  face  "  it  was,  at  this 
moment).  "  You  look  altogether  too  much  like  a  shade- 
grown  plant;  exercise  would  be  good  for  you.  Were  you 
ever  in  that  glen,  down  yonder?" 

"  Yes,  once  or  twice.     It  is  a  pretty  place." 

"  It  is  a  pretty  place, — and  there  is  a  lovely  view  from 
the  hill  beyond.  I  want  you  to  go  and  look  at  it  with  me, 
sometime." 


168  SHILOH. 

She  looked  distressed. 

"  Cannot  you  go  ?  "  I  continued,  mercilessly.  "  Or  does 
it  give  you  pain  to  walk  ?  " 

She  winced  again,  and  her  sweet  lip  quivered  touchingly. 
But  she  made  an  attempt — a  very  tremulous  and  unsuccess- 
ful one — to  adopt  my  own  tone  in  the  matter,  since  there 
was  no  escape  for  her. 

"  No,  it  does  not  give  me  pain,"  she  answered,  in  a  con- 
strained voice.  "  I  could  walk  as  far  as  most  people,  I 
think,  if  I  were  accustomed  to  it." 

"  Then  I  shall  make  it  my  business  to  see  that  you  are 
accustomed  to  it,"  said  I,  very  decidedly.  "  Sometimes,  I 
want  a  companion  in  my  walks, — not  always.  I  know  what 
wretchedly  bad  taste  it  is,  but  there  are  times  when  I  prefer 
my  own  society  to  the  best  that  can  be  had.  The  truth 
being  that  I  am  so  constituted  that  I  actually  need  frequent 
seasons  of  retirement ;  for  self-communion  and  self-renewal. 
Without  them,  I  seem  to  lose  all  that  is  best  in  my  own  in- 
dividuality :  breathing  constantly  the  atmosphere  of  other 
people's  thoughts  destroys  whatever  is  fresh,  vigorous,  or 
characteristic,  in  my  own.  But  when  I  do  want  a  compan- 
ion, I  shall  come  for  you.  And  I  am  certain  you  will  not 
deny  me ;  for  I  intend  always  to  begin  or  end  by  taking 
you  into  Mrs.  Divine's,  and  playing  you  something  sweet 
on  my  piano." 

Her  eyes  brightened.  "  You  have  a  piano !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, breathlessly,  "  and  at  Mrs.  Divine's  ?  " 

"  Precisely.  And  I  expect  to  have  the  pleasure  of  play- 
ing your  accompaniments  on  it.  I  was  as  much  charmed 
with  your  voice,  on  the  morning  of  that  eventful  Sunday, 
as  I  was  with  your  eyes,  in  the  afternoon.  Each  was  per- 
fect, in  its  way." 

She  looked  at  me  dubiously.  "  I  thought  .J.  could  sing," 
she  answered,  with  a  shade  of  irrepressible  sadness  in  her 
voice,  "  before  I  heard  you ;  now  I  know  better.  And  I'm 


SHILOH.  169 

sure  you  can't  take  any  pleasure  in  hearing  me, — I  suppose 
you  have  heard  all  the  first  singers  of  the  world." 

I  selected  silently  a  rose-bud  or  two  frofn  the  bouquet  she 
had  given  me,  and  held  the  rest  of  the  flowers  toward  her. 
She  extended  her  hand  for  them  mechanically,  looking  into 
my  face  with  a  puzzled  and  inquiring  glance. 

"  I  do  not  see  why  I  need  care  for  those  common  flowers, 
while  I  have  the  rosebuds,"  I  said,  carelessly.  "  And  I  ad- 
vise you,  when  you  next  visit  your  flower-bed,  to  dig  them 
all  xip.  To  be  sure,  they  are  very  sweet  and  pretty,  in  their 
way,  but  they  are  not  quite  like  roses,  you  know." 

For  some  moments,  she  seemed  to  be  groping  blindly 
about  for  my  meaning ;  then  a  quaint  little  smile  evinced 
her  comprehension.  But  it  soon  faded  into  gravity :  ob- 
viously, she  was  struggling  bravely  with  herself.  At  last, 
she  lifted  a  very  shy,  but  still  resolved,  glance  to  mine. 

"  I  see  it  is  foolish  for  me  to  feel  so  about  it,  but  I  am 
very  much  afraid  to  sing  before  you,  for  all  that.  Still  I 
will  try  to  overcome  it,  now  that  I  know  I  ought.  I  sup- 
pose I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  be  a  sweet-pea,  as  I  can't 
be  a  rose ;  or,  rather,  to  sing  like  a  wren,  since  I  was  not 
made  a  nightingale." 

"  My  dear  Ruth,"  I  answered,  speaking  after  Bona's  dic- 
tation, "I  suspect  that  the  difference  in  value  between  a 
sweet  pea  and  a  rose,  or  a  wren  and  a  nightingale,  does  not 
amount  to  a  farthing,  in  immortal  currency.  The  question 
in  Heaven  is  not  which  of  these  it  is  that  makes  a  little  per- 
fumed space,  or  a  tone-embalmed  atmosphere,  around  it ; 
but  whether  each  gives  forth  freely  and  cheerfully  the 
best  that  it  has.  And  there  is  another  comfort.  For, 
though  a  sweet-pea  was  never  known  to  grow  into  a  rose, 
nor  a  wren  into  a  nightingale,  through  any  amount  of  effort 
or  of  patience, — there  is  no  telling  what  such  a  voice  as 
yours  may  not  become,  with  the  needful  training." 

"  Where  am  I  to  get  it  ?  "  she  answered,  mournfully. 


A    HISTORY. 

v  ^55fei  .j 

~\  HE  opportunity  for  which  I  had  been  preparing 

so  assiduously,  and  which  I  had  expected 
to  ripen  only  by  slow  and  unnoticed  de- 
grees, being   thus   unexpectedly  put   into   my 
hands,  I  scarcely  knew  what  to  do  with  it. 

The  pride  of  the, independent  farmer's  daugh- 
ter was  sure  to  rebel,  I  thought,  against  any 
appearance  of  patronage,  any  intrusive  offer  of 
service.     While  I  hesitated,  Bona  came  to  my  relief. 

"  You  know  I  told  you  at  the  outset,"  said  she,  "  that 
you  cannoc  expect  to  gain  much  without  risking  some- 
thing. The.  rule  holds  good  in  confidence,  as  in  every- 
thing else." 

Instead  of  answering  Ruth's  question,  therefore — to 
which,  in  truth,  she  did  not  seem  to  expect  an  answer — I 
made  a  blind,  desperate  plunge  into  my  personal  history. 
I  did  not  stop  to  settle  beforehand  how  far  into  its  depths 
I  should  venture — let  circumstances  decide  that  for  me  ! — 
neither  did  I  count  the  cost  of  the  undertaking,  though  a 

O '  O 

vague  apprehension  of  its  probable  sum  total  made  me 
shiver,  and  gave  a  hollow,  forced  tone  to  my  voice. 

"  Since  we  are  to  be  friends,  Ruth,"  I  began,  "  it  is 
right  that  you  should  know  a  little  more  of  me.  My  father 
was  a  scholar,  and  somewhat  of  an  antiquarian  and  a  vir- 
tuoso beside,  with  his  eyes  always  between  the  two  covers 


SHILOII.  171 

of  a  book,  or  on  the  point  of  a  pen — for  he  eked  out  a  some- 
what scanty  income  by  various  kinds  of  literary  labor.  It 
was  the  great  disappointment  of  his  life,  I.  think,  that  his 
only  child  should  have  been  a  girl ;  nevertheless,  when  my 
mother  died,  and  left  me — a  year  old  -babe — upon  his 
hands,  he  immediately  became  the  most  patient  and  ten- 
der of  nurses  and  teachers.  He  made  himself  what  poor 
amends  he  could,  however,  for  my  mistake  in  sex — for  such 
he  evidently  considered  it — by  giving  me  precisely  the  ed- 
ucation that  he  would  have  given  his  son,  if  he  had  been 
so  happy  as  to  have  had  one.  He  instructed  me  in  the 
dead  languages  while  I  was  yet  in  pinafores,  and  filled  my 
young  brains  Avith  all  sorts  of  antiquarian  lumber, — which 
is  of  scarcely  more  practical  use,  in  this  headlong,  irrever- 
ent nineteenth  century,  than  an  ancient  battering-ram 
would  be  in  a  modern  siege.  He  took  good  care,  however, 
to  supplement  this  curious  primary  course  with  some  very 
thorough  training  in  the  modern  languages  and  in  music ; 
which  latter  study  I  completed  in  Italy,  where  the  last 
years  of  his  life  were  spent,  and  where  he  died. 

"  '  Pulvis  et  umbra  sumus  omnes,filia  carissima  meaj  he 
used  to  say  to  me,  in  his  quaint,  discursive  fashion  ;  "  and 
in  my  case,  the  dust  is  fast  disintegrating,  and  the  shadow 
deepening.  And  inasmxich  as  the  major  part  of  my  in- 
come dies  with  me,  I  shall  leave  yoii  but  little,  beside  my 
name, — which  you  will  get  rid  of  as  soon  as  possible  (that 
is  what  it  is  to  have  a  daughter!), — my  memory, — which  I 
"hope  you  will  cherish  a  little  longer, — and  my  faith, — being 
that  of  the  one  Catholic  and  Apostolic  Church, — which  I 
trust  you  will  hold  fast  through  life  unto  death.  This  last 
portion  of  your  patrimony  I  conceive  to  be  of  such  value, 
that  it  consoles  me  much  for  the  smallness  of  the  remainder. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  not  that  sort  of  property  which  can  be 
appraised  and  inventoried,  and  bought  and  sold,  in  the 
market ;  neither  is  it  to  be  counted,  humanly  speaking,  a 
bread-producing  possession.  And  though  it  is  in  nowise 


172  SHILOH. 

to  be  doubted  that  your  Uncle  John  will  care  for  you  as 
if  you  were  his  own,  after  my  death, — since  he  hath  been 
the  best  of  brothers  to  me,  in  my  life, — yet  the  vicissitudes 
of  this  world  are  many,  and  the  ups  and  downs  of  Ameri- 
can society  patent  to  all ;  and  there  can  be  no  certainty 
that  it  may  not,  sometime,  be  needful  or  expedient  for  you 
to  earn  your  own  bread.  Moreover,  it  is  ever  the  part  of 
true  wisdom  to  provide  for  the  worst,  while  expecting  the 
best.  Therefore,  having  first  given  you  a  solid  foundation 
of  that  knowledge  which  best  disciplines  the  mind  and 
strengthens  the  memory,  while  it  refines  the  taste  and  de- 
lights the  heart ;  I  have  thought  it  well  to  add  thereto  a 
superstructure  of  the  languages  of  Modern  Europe  (soft, 
effeminate  offspring  of  vigorous  and  sinewy  sires),  and  of 
music  (which  I  see  you  love  better  to  study  as  a  science 
than  to  practice  as  an  art,  whereof  your  music-master  doth 
somewhat  complain)  ;  and  between  them  all,  I  hope  to  have 
made  you  independent  of  any  mischances  of  fortune — sap- 
iens dominabitur  astris.  If  the  Woman's  Rights  move- 
ment— which,  from  lack  of  time,  and  intei'est,  I  have  not 
given  the  strict  analysis  and  consideration  it  demands — 
ever  brings  forth  better  fruit  than  much  darkening  of  coun- 
sel with  words ;  I  believe  you  might  fill  the  Professorship 
of  Ancient  Languages  and  Literature,  in  a  female  college, 
with  credit  to  the  institution.  In  any  case,  I  trust  you  can 
teach  your  sex  to  be  something  better  than  dolls  at  home, 
and  butterflies  abroad.  But  he  or  she  who  setteth  up  to 
be  a  teacher  of  others,  carissima  mea,  must  needs  be  thor- 
oughly furnished  to  that  end  himself.  Therefore, — to 
which  point  all  this  discourse  tendeth, — take  heed  that 
your  next  translation  into  the  German  hath  somewhat 
more  of  the  Teutonic,  and  somewhat  less  of  the  Latin,  fla- 
vor in  it ;  and  be  not  guilty  of  the  heinous  sin  of  further 
vitiating  a  scion  of  one  of  the  best  and  strongest  of  the 
ancient  stocks. 

"  And  now,  go  and  practice  your  scales  as  if  your  din- 


SIIILOII.  173 

ner  depended  on  their  smooth  and  flowing  execution ; 
there  is  no  telling  if  the  supposition  may  not,  some  time, 
in  some  sense,  become  a  certainty.  Which,  though  it  be  a 
mournful  enough  prospect  for  an  earthly  father  to  contem- 
plate, anima  mea,  is  not  the  less  likely  to  be  the  purest 
manifestation  of  your  Heavenly  Father's  tenderness  !  " 

How  clearly  the  attempt  to  sketch  my  father  for  an- 
other, brought  him  before  my  own  mental  vision  !  with  his 
tall,  bent  figure,  his  fine,  keen,  intellectual  face,  his  gentle 
manners,  his  quaint,  rambling,  bookish  talk; — a  man  at 
once  wise  and  simple ;  learned  and  reverent ;  studious  and 
genial.  All  my  old  life  defiled  before  me,  in  a  series  of 
sharp,  vivid  pictures,  as  I  talked.  I  saw  again  a  large,  low, 
shadowy  room,  which  was  the  scene  of  my  earliest  recollec- 
tions ;  in  the  midst,  a  table  covered  with  faded  green, 
whereat  my  father  studied  and  wrote, — the  walls  lined 
with  books, — the  drawers  and  cabinets  stuffed  full  of  coins, 
medals,  ores,  gems,  drinking  cups,  missals,  and  a  variety  of 
obsolete  treasures,  with  an  interminable  pedigree, — the 
table,  chairs,  and  floor  heaped  with  manuscripts,  draw- 
ings, encyclopedias,  and  all  sorts  of  learned  litter.  I  saw 
myself — a  somewhat  grave  and  thoughtful  child,  with  the 
shadow  of  motherlessness  over  me— creeping  and  rummag- 
ing among  this  literary  lumber  almost  at  my  will ;  never 
rebuked  except  for  deliberate  mischief;  and  often  falling 
asleep  with  my  head  pillowed  on  some  rare  old  blackletter 
folio  or  quarto, — the  Chronicles  of  Cooper  and  Froissart, 
Caxton's  "  Pylgrimage  of  the  Sowle,"  Breton's  "  Pleasant 
Toyes  for  an  Idle  Head," — or  it  might  be  a  three-century- 
old  Plautus,  profusely  adorned  with  wood-cuts,  or  a  tall,  thin 
Somnium  Scipionis, — the  marvels  and  monstrosities  of 
whose  illustrations  and  illuminations  reappeared  in  my 
dveams;  I  saw  myself  in  my  father's  arms  repeating  after 
him,  in  the  twilight,  texts  from  the  Greek  Testament  and 
verses  of  sonorous  Latin  Hymns,  while  I  was  yet  too  young 
to  learn  them  from  the  book ; — and  I  had  already  become 


1T4  SHILOH. 

as  familiar  with  all  terms  of  endearment,  in  both  languages, 
as  any  daughter  of  Pericles  or  of  Virginius  might  have1 
been ;  and  in  precisely  the  same  way — by  hearing  them 
constantly  from  my  father's  lips. 

I  saw  myself  foraging  in  the  book-shelves,  a  little  later  on, 
for  such  mental  food  as  best  suited  my  youthful  appetite ;  and 
seldom  going  much  amiss,  though  occasionally  victimized 
by  cunning  title  pages  ; — for  my  astonishment  at  finding 
that  the  Diversions  of  Purley  were  anything  but  diverting, 
and  that  the  Apes  ITrbance  did  not  treat  of  bees,  could 
only  have  been  equalled  by  that  of  the  North  of  England 
farmer,  who  bought  Ruskin's  disquisition  "  On  the  Con- 
struction of  Sheep-folds,"  with  an  eye  to  the  necessities  of 
his  own  flocks,  and  found  that  it  had  nothing  to  say  of  any 
inclosures  but  such  as  are  for  the  behoof  of  Popery  and 
Protestantism !  Then,  I  saw  myself  sitting  reverently  at  the 
feet  of  the  mighty  masters  of  Ancient  Philosophy  and  Song, 
— all  difficulties  and  obscurations  being  swept  aside,  and  all 
beauties  brought  into  strong  light  by  my  father's  ever  pre- 
sent help ;  while  the  evening  hours  ran  golden  and  sweet 
to  the  melodies  of  Milton,  Dante,  and  Schiller,  or  the  har- 
monies of  Mozai't  and  Mendelssohn  and  Beethoven;  their 
last  moments  being  ever  consecrated  by  a  chapter  read 
from  the  Book  of  Books  and  a  joint  repetition  of  the 
Prayer  of  Prayers.  What  a  safe,  peaceful,  happy  life  it 
was !  I  never  knew  how  happy  until  I  had  left  it  far 
behhid. 

The  "scene  then  changed.  Leaning  upon  my  father's 
arm,  I  drank  in  the  sun  of  Italy,  and  felt  her  "  marvelous 
wind."  Day  after  day,  I  threaded  the  narrow  streets, 
roamed  through  the  vast  art-galleries,  knelt  in  the  time 
enriched  churches,  gazed,  wondering,  up  into  the  soaring 
Dome,  stood,  tear-blinded  by  the  cross  in  the  Coliseum, 
went  down  into  the  tombs,  and  climbed  the  hills,  of 
ROME  ! 

Somehow,  almost   imperceptibly,    amid   these   mingled 


SHILOH.  175 

wrecks  and  triumphs  of  the  ages,  my  father  and  I  had 
changed  places.  From  the  supported  I  had  grown  to  be 
the  supporter;  he  now  leaned  upon  my  arm.  Then,  the 
walks  became  shorter,  the  visits  to  studio  and  gallery  less 
frequent,  the  lessons  and  readings  irregular : — one  day,  the 
voice  that  had  led  me,  step  by  step,  through  all  that  is  best 
in  life  or  books,  faltered  and  fell,  over  the  familiar  page. 
" Draw  the  curtain,  figliuola  mia"  it  murmured,  feebly, 
"  and  let  in  more  light." 

I  saw  myself,  in  that  light,  under  the  foreign  sky — 
among  strangers — alone!  Between  my  father  and  me, 
God's  hand  had  let  fall  a  thick,  impenetrable  curtain.  On 
his  side,  the  full  light  of  eternity — on  mine,  the  darkness  of 
desolation  and  the  shadow  of  death ! 

I  did  not  know  that  there  were  tears  on  my  cheeks — 
tears  due  to  this  gliding  inner  panorama,  and  not  to  the 
words  I  had  spoken — until  Ruth  lifted  her  hand  timidly, 
to  wipe  them  away.  Then  I  went  on. 

"  While  my  father  talked  thus,  my  heart  used  to  thrill 
and  glow  with  the  pride  of  independence,  and  I  was  men- 
tally resolved  that,  whenever  it  should  please  God  to  write 
me  down  '  orphanecl,'  I  would  be  indebted  to  no  hand,  nor 
brains,  but  my  own  for  my  daily  bread.  So  I  studied,  con 
amore — the  love  of  books  having  grown  and  strengthened 
in  me  by  as  natural  a  life-process  as  that  which  gives 
breadth  to  the  leaf  and  fulness  to  the  ilower.  And  I  prac- 
tised, with  a  purpose, — for  I  was  made  a  musician,  not  born 
one,  as  you  are,  Ruth, — all  my  acquirements,  in  that  line, 
are  the  result  of  patient  labor  and  skilful  training.  But 
when,  on  my  arrival  in  America,  I  saw  the  pain  in  my 
Uncle  John's  face,  as  I  began  to  talk  of  my  plans  for  sup- 
porting myself — a  face  more  like  my  father's  than  anything 
I  had  expected  to  see  this  side  Heaven ! — I  gave  them 
all  up,  almost  without  a  word  or  a  struggle :  that  look  and 
that  likeness  made  a  moral  coward  of  me.  To  be  sure,  I 
comforted  myself  with  the  belief  that  they  were  only  held 


1TG  SHILOII. 

in  abeyance,  for  a  time ;  but  that  was  four  years  ago,  Ruth, 
and  I  seem  now  to  be  no  nearer  to  their  realization,  than 
then.  My  home  is  made  homelike  enough  to  give  me  no 
good  excuse  for  leaving  it ;  though  it  must  inevitably  lack 
that  -nameless  property  which  chiefly  constitutes  a  home, 
and  which  was  never  missing  from  even  the  most  tempo- 
rary abode  where  my  father  and  I  sojourned  together. 
However,  I  have  assiduously  kept  up  the  practice  of  music ; 
partly  out  of  regard  for  my  father's  memory,  and  partly,  to 
please  my  aunt  and  cousin — till  lately.  When  I  came  to 
Shiloh,  I  thought  I  had  done  with  it  forever." 

Ruth  opened  her  mouth  to  give  utterance  to  an  expres- 
sion of  wonder;  but  none  coming  to  hand  sufficiently 
strong  for  the  occasion,  she  shut  it  again,  and  only 
looked  at  me  as  if  she  thought  I  had  taken  leave  of  my 
senses. 

"  Yes,"  I  went  on,  slowly,  "  for  all  my  music  had  be- 
come so  inwrought  with  the  memory  of  one  who — who  is 
evermore  dead  to  me,  though  he  is  yvet  alive — that  it  was 
only  a  source  of  pain,  an  instrument  of  torture.  To  es- 
cape from  it,  and  similar  associations,  I  came  to  Shiloh." 

Heaven  only  knows  what  an  effort  these  few  words  cost 
me.  Each  one  seemed  to  be  di-agged  up  from  the  depths 
of  my  heart,  slowly  and  with  difficulty,  as  dead  bodies  are 
drawn  from  the  waves.  And  Ruth  Winnot's  eyes  looked 
as  if  she  were  assisting  at  such  a  dismal  operation.  There 
was  in  them  both  pity  and  dread, — the  pity  and  the  dread 
of  one  who,  for  the  first  time,  is  brought  face  to  face  with 
a  calamity,  hitherto  known  only  by  description.  Yet,  even 
amid  my  pain,  I  had  an  intuitive  perception  that  my  confi- 
dence had  conquered  her;  from  henceforth  I  might  do  with 
her  almost  what  I  Avould.  I  saw,  too — in  a  limited,  out- 
line way,  yet  clearly,  so  far  as  my  discernment  went — that 
through  pain  we  acquire  power  for  good  ;  power  to  discern 
deeply,  to  influence  strongly,  to  help  wisely.  Those  joy- 
blossoms,  without  whose  fragrance  and  bloom  my  life  had 


SHILOH.  '  177 

seemed  destined  to  be  all  an  emptiness,  had,  in  their  fall- 
ing, left  some  fecund  germs  behind,  which  were  already 
developing  into  fruit  that  might  be  more  soul-satisfying 
than  any  blossoms.  I  began  to  discover  that  there  was  no 
earthly  loss  which,  even  on  earth,  might  not  be  made,  by 
God's  grace,  to  bring  forth  some  richly  compensating 
gain. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  !  "  faltered  Ruth,  after  a  few  moments 
of  pregnant  silence,  wiping  the  dew  from  her  eyes, — "  it- 
must  have  been  so  hard  for  you  to  sing  on  that  Sunday ! " 

"  It  was  only  hard  at  the  outset,"  I  answered.  "  As  in 
most  other  duties  which  we  are  constrained  by  the  Holy 
Spirit  to  undertake,  against  our  own  inclinations,  the  pain 
and  the  struggle  were  over  as  soon  as  I  had  fairly  set  my- 
self about  the  work.  That  gentle  force  which,  while  we 
resist  it,  seems  like  an  unfriendly  power,  tearing  us  away 
from  things  easy  and  pleasant,  and  thrusting  us  upon 
things  difficult  and  thorny ;  becomes,  the  instant  we  yield 
to  it,  a  friendly  arm  to  lean  upon,  a  faithful,  helpful  guide 
unto  purer  enjoyments  than  any  we  leave  behind.  I  am 
thankful  that  I  was  made  to  sing  on  that  Sunday.  In  good 
truth,  the  occasion  and  the  circumstances  of  that  singing 
were  so  different  from  anything  that  ever  came  in  my  way 
before,  that  there  was  really  no  good  excuse  for  old  as- 
sociations to  thrust  themselves  into  the  matter.  And  the 
event  wrought  in  me  an  entire  change  of  purpose." 

She  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"  It  would  take  too  much  time  and  too  many  words  to 
tell  you  how  it  all  came  about.  But  Shiloh — or  my  expe- 
riences therein — had  already  taught  me  that  no  life  need  be 
utterly  forlorn  while  it  is  still  capable  of  being  helpful,  no 
more  than  one  which  is  still  capable  of  being  helped ;  these 
two  truths,  Ruth,  have  roots  that  strike  down  deep  into  every 
heart,  and  penetrate  all  the  foundations  of  society.  It  was 
reserved  for  that  Sunday  to  show  me  that  I  had  no  right 
to  bury  in  a  napkin,  or  suifer  to  rust  through  disuse,  any 


178  SIIILOII. 

talent  which  might  sometime  be  available  for  the  service  of 
God  and  the  help  of  man.  With  which  last  conviction, 
Ruth,  you  had  somewhat  to  do." 

"  I !  "  There  was  a  world  of  astonishment  and  ques- 
tioning in  the  tone. 

"  Do  you  remember  telling  me  that  you  should  '  never 
sing  again  ? '  Well,  immediately  there  rose  before  me  a 
vision.  I  saw  a  meek,  rapt,  Madonna  face,  making  a  kind 
of  glory  in  some  shadowy  church-choir ;  and  I  heard  a 
pure,  clear,  soaring  voice,  leading  the  song  of  praise  in 
such  wise  as  to  make  it  seem  that  the  heavens  were  opened, 
and  the  strains  of  angelic  choirs  pealing  down  to  earth. 
Could  it  have  been  your  face,  and  your  voice,  Ruth  ?  " 

She  sat  looking  at  me,  with  eyes  dilated  and  lips  apart, 
breathless,  trembling,  eager,  doubtful. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  I  went  on,  "whether  I  shall  ever  see 
my  ideal  songstress,  in  the  flesh  ; — but,  Ruth,  when  God 
sends  us  such  visions,  He  means  iis  to  take  the  first  step — 
be  it  never  so  short  and,  seemingly,  ineffectual  a  one — to- 
ward bi-inging  about  their  realization  ;  the  second  step  will 
immediately  become  clearer.  In  this  instance,  the  first 
step  was  to  send  for  my  piano.  And  the  second — well, 
the  question  you  asked  me  so  long  ago,  and  which  I  did 
not  then  answer — made  the  second  easier  to  me." 

There  was  the  beginning  of  a  look  of  comprehension  in 
her  face. 

"I  have  sometimes  wondered  of  late,"  I  proceeded, 
"  why  it  was  that  so  much  musical  culture  had  been  wasted 
upon  me,  since  I  am  not  to  win  my  bread  'by  its  aid ;  and 
inasmuch  as  I  have  no  innate,  spontaneous  love  for  the 
practice  of  music, — (which  is,  be  it  understood,  a  different 
thing  from  loving  music  itself).  But  if  I  am  to  be  instru- 
mental in  training  up  one  singer  to  sing  worthily  unto  God, 
in  God's  house,  the  problem  is  solved.  And  the  end  is 
worth  all  the  long  preparation." 

Was  it  worth  all?     Humbly,  not  captiously,  I  asked 


SHILOH.  1Y9 

that  question  in  the  silence  of  my  own  soul.  There  was 
no  response,  only  an  echo,  and  still  a  question — "  All  ?  " 

Then  I  took  both  her  hands  in  mine.  "Dear  Ruth," 
I  said,  softly,  "  shall  we  help  one  another  ?  Will  you  be 
my  pupil  in  music,  and  let  me  be  your  pupil  in  whatsoever 
God  means  me  to  learn  through  you  ?  " 

She  bowed  her  head  on  my  lap,  and  her  long-drawn, 
choking  sobs,  with  each  one  of  which  some  weight, 
some  doubt,  some  anxiety,  seemed  to  be  lifted  from  her 
heart,  shook  the  silence.  When  she  raised  her  head, 
her  face  was  radiant.  Her  first  words  came  brokenly, 
nevertheless. 

"  It  seems  like  a  miracle, — it  is  so  sudden — and  so  beau- 
tiful !  And  it  makes  everything  so  plain  !  I  used  to  have 
such  blind  longings — such  dumb  pains — such  miserable  fits 
of  depression — such  wonderings  why  I  was  born.  I  see 
now  that  I  was  just  like  a  poor,  little  seed  buried  too  far 
underground  ;  it  wants  to  swell,  to  sprout,  to  grow.  But 
it  cannot  lift  or  pierce  the  heavy  mass  of  earth  that  holds 
it  down.  All  its  struggles  only  make  it  feel  more  uncom- 
fortable under  the  constraint.  By  and  by,  some  kind  pass- 
er-by, seeing  the  earth  stirred  slightly  by  its  vain  attempts 
to  put  forth  what  is  in  it,  lifts  off  some  of  the  crushing 
weight,  and  lets  in  the  sun's  warmth  and  the  dew's  fresh- 
ness. And  it  sprouts,  and  blossoms,  and  bears  fruit,  and 
is  happy.  That  is  what  you  have  done  for  me,  Miss 
Frost ! " 

Before  I  left  her,  the  hours  of  lessons,  study,  and  prac- 
tice were  all  settled  upon, — to  begin  on  the  morrow. 

When  I  reached  home,  I  went  directly  to  Mrs.  Divine, 
whom  I  found  in  her  usual  corner  of  the  kitchen  hearth, 
with  a  pile  of  just  mended  stockings  in  her  lap,  and  a  book 
in  her  hand. 

She  looked  up  as  I  entered  ;  and  I  plunged  into  busi- 
ness, at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Divine,  I  have  just  made  an  arrangement  with 


180  SHILOH. 

Ruth  Winnot,  that  waits  your  approbation  ere  it  can  go 
into  effect.  I  should  have  consulted  you  beforehand,  if  I 
had  supposed  it  could  be  brought  about  so  soon.  She 
is  to  come  here  twice  a  week  for  music  lessous,  and  twice 
every  day  for  practice  on  my  piano.  Have  you  any  ob- 
jections ?  " 

She  laid  down  her  book,  and  took  off  her  spectacles 
very  deliberately,  before  she  answered.  Her  first  words 
were  certainly  irrelevant. 

"  Miss  Frost,  do  you  think  you'd  burn  if  you  was  put 
into  the  fire  ?  or  drown,  if  you  was  thrown  into  the 
water?" 

"  So  you  take  me  for  a  witch  ?  "  I  responded.  "  Thank 
You." 

"  Umph  !  you  had  better  thank  the  Lord  that  Cotton 
Mather  died  before  you  was  born !  " 

"  But  about  these  lessons,  Mrs.  Divine  ?  " 

"  Solomon  said  there  was  nothing  new  under  the  sun, — 
arid  may  be  there  ain't ;  the  sun  covers  a  good  deal  of 
ground.  But  to  see  Ruth  Winnot  coming  here  twice  a 
day — or,  indeed,  showing  herself  anywhere  in  broad  day- 
light— will  be  something  new  in  Shiloh,  at  least !  Step  up 
to  the  light,  here,  and  let  me  see  your  shadow — that  is,  if 
you've  got  any!  There  are  two  kinds  of  witches;  some 
cast  no  shadow,  and  some  cast  two.  The  double-dealers 
are  the  worst,  I  reckon," — with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  her 
eye. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  I,  tacitly  declining  to  touch  the  sub- 
ject of  the  shadows,  "  that  such  constant  use  will  disturb 
the  strict  order  of  your  parlor  a  little, — would  it  not  be 
better  to  transfer  the  piano  to  my  room  ?  " 

"  The  out-room  was  made  for  use,"  she  returned,  senten- 
tiously.  "  If  it  wasn't,  what  was  it  made  for  ?  " 

"But  Mrs.  Prescott  likes  to  keep  it  so  immaculately 
neat ; — I  am  afraid  she  will  be  put  to  a  great  deal  of 
trouble." 


SUILOH.  181 

• 

"  Of  course,  Priscilla  will  follow  you  round  with  a 
broom  and  a  dust-pan,"  she  rejoined,  taking  snuff  com- 
posedly ;  "  but  that  pleases  her,  and  needn't  displease  you. 
There's  room  enough  in  the  world  for  most  people's  crotch- 
ets, if  you  only  think  so.  But  it  won't  hurt  Ruth  to  give 
her  a  hint  not  to  leave  things  lying  around  and  askew  ; 
there's  nothing  lost  by  tidiness,  if  it  isn't  overdone.  And 
I'm  real  glad  you've  got  that  poor  girl  to  think  she  can 
come  out  of  her  shell,  though  I  can't  make  out  how  you've 
done  it." 

"  It  is  not  I,  Mrs.  Divine.  She  loves  music,  and  that 
draws  her." 

"  As  the  bucket  draws  the  water  !  But  if  there  wasn't 
a  pole  and  hand  in  league  with  the  bucket,  it  wouldn't  do 
much  toward  quenching  anybody's  thirst,  I  reckon.  You 
are  behind  the  music,  and  the  Lord  is  behind  you.  You 
are  doing  His  work,  Miss  Frost ;  and  I  hope  you'll  find 
the  wages  sweet — sweet  enough  to  take  that  look  out  of 
your  face ! " 

The  conversation  was  taking  a  direction  that  I  did  not 
care  to  follow.  I  was  glad,  therefore,  to  hear  Alice  Pres- 
cott's  step  in  the  door. 

"  "Well,  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Divine,  "  here's  news  for  you  ! 
Miss  Frost  is  going  to  give  Ruth  Winnot  music-lessons, 
and  she's  coming  here  every  day  after  'em.  What  do  you 
think  of  that  ?  " 

The  answer  did  not  come  readily ;  and  the  first  look  of 
surprise  soon  faded  into  a  hurt  and  sorrowful  expression, 
which  puzzled  me.  I  could  not  see  what  Ruth  Winnot's 
music-lessons  had  to  do  with  it ;  yet  it  shadowed  my  satis- 
faction for  the  moment,  and  haunted  me  until  I  slept. 


XVIII. 

THE    MUSIC   LESSOR. 

RAY  and  sullen  was  the  morning,  with 
occasional  spurts  of  rain.  An  easterly 
storm  was  setting  toward  Shiloh,  and  all 
the  tongues  in  the  trees  gave  forth  melancholy 
notes  of  warning.  Nevertheless,  Ruth  Win- 
not  was  punctual  to  the  moment.  While  the 
tall  kitchen  clock  was  still  telling  the  hour  of 
nine,  with  strokes  slow,  solemn,  and  reverber- 
ant as  those  of  a  passing  bell, — doing  its  best  to  impress  its 
hearers  with  the  fact  that  the  death  of  an  hour  is  a  matter 
of  serious  and  weighty  import, — Alice  Prescott  appeared 
at  my  door  to  notify  me  of  her  presence  below.  The  an- 
nouncement was  briefly  made,  and  the  messenger  turned 
quickly  away.  But  not  before  I  had  observed  that  her 
face  wore  the  same  grieved  and  discomfited  expression 
that  had  struck  me  on  the  preceding  evening.  I  laid  a 
hand  on  either  shoulder,  and  forcibly  detained  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Alice  ?    -Have  I  done  anything 
to  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  letting  her  eyes  drop. 
"  So  far,  so  good.     But  thei-e  are  sins  of  omission  as 
as  well  as  commission.     What  have  I  failed  to  do  that  you 
expected  or  desired  ?  " 

"Nothing."     But«there  was  a  shade  of  pain,  almost 
amounting  to  petulance,  in  the  tone. 

"  I  see  there  is  something  out  of  joint,"  I  said,  after 


SIIILOH.  183 

a  moment's  consideration  of  her  downcast,  half-averted 
face,  "but  I  will  not  press  the  subject  now.  Only, you  had 
better  improve  the  respite  in  making  up  your  mind  to  a 
full  and  frank  confession  ;  for  I  give  you  fair  warning  that 
I  shall  be  sure  to  find  out  what  the  trouble  is,  whether  you 
tell  me  or  no." 

I  did  find  out,  sooner  than  I  expected.  As  I  passed  the 
half-open  door  of  Mrs.  Divine's  room,  at  the  foot  of  the 
staircase,  the  loud  tones  of  Mrs.  Prescott's  voice,  sharp  to 
a  degree  of  snappishness,  came  to  my  ear  with  a  distinct- 
ness not  to  be  shut  out. 

"  Some  folks  will  go  a  mile  to  give  a  beggar  a  shilling, 
who  wouldn't  throw  a  cent  to  one  that  was  starving  at  the 
door  !  And  some  folks  are  born  to  good  luck — they  and 
their  kin — to  the  third  and  fourth  generation !  But  I 
wasn't.  Nobody'd  ever  think  of  giving  my  Alice  music 
lessons,  if  she  had  come  into  the  world  without  legs  or 
arms,  and  deaf  and  dumb  into  the  bargain  !  " 

It  was  impossible  not  to  smile  at  the  idea  of  such  a  stu- 
dent of  harmonics  ;  yet  my  predominant  feeling  was  not 
one  of  amusement.  Mala  hastened  to  improve  the  oc- 
casion. 

"  See  there  !  "  exclaimed  she,  mockingly,  "  that  is  what 
you  get  for  not  minding  your  own  business  !  " 

BOJTA.  Who  was  it  that  said :  "  Wist  ye  not  that  I 
must  be  about" — not  my  own,  but — "my  Father's  bus- 
iness ?  ". 

MALA.  Umph  !  your  business  in  the  musical  line  is  like- 
ly to  be  extensive  !  You  will  be  expected  to  give  music 
lessons  to  ev.ery  Miss  in  Shiloh,  with*  or  without  a  particle 
of  musical  talent. 

I  (shrugging  my  shoulders).  The  expectation  will  be 
cut  off,  then. 

BOXA.  Whenever  it  is,  clearly,  an  unreasonable  one. 

MALA.  As  it  is  in  this  instance.  Mrs.  Prescott  is  jeal- 
ous, on  Alice's  account ;  and  jealousy  is  always  unreason- 
able. 


184  SHILOII. 

I  (emphatically).  And  it  is  a  quality  that  I  partic- 
ularly detest ;  and  toward  which  I  will  show  no  mercy. 

BOXA.  But,  in  this  case,  is  there  not  a  little  occasion 
for  the  jealousy  ?  Mrs.  Prescott  would,  naturally,  feel  hurt 
that  her  daughter — living  under  the  same  roof  with  your- 
self— should  be  overlooked,  while  her  friend  is  so  notice- 
ably sought  out. 

I.  But  Alice  has  no  talent  for  music. 

BONA.  Perhaps  she  has  a  talent  for  something  else. 

I  (impatiently}.  Her  sole  talent  is  for  reading.  She  in- 
herits that  from  her  grandmother  ;  though  her  appetite  is 
by  no  means  so  omnivorous  as  hers.  But  it  is  even  more 
absorbing.  She  shuts  herself  up  in  a  book  as  if  she  were 
locked  inside  an  oaken  chest ;  she  becomes  deaf,  dumb, 
blind  and  immovable,  as  soon  as  her  eyes  fall  on  the  page. 
I  do  what  I  can  to  gratify  her.  by  giving  her  the  free  use 
of  all  my  books, — all  that  she  will  read,  that  is  ;  for  her 
taste  runs  chiefly  to  novels  and  poetry,  and  she  does  not 
even  choose  the  best  of  either. 

BONA.  You  might  educate  her  taste,  then.' 

I  (diilsfully).  Must  I  turn  teacher  to  everybody  that 
comes  in  my  way  ? 

MALA.  Perhaps  Mr.  Divine's  hired  man  would  like  to 
learn  Latin ! 

BONA.  There  is  no  occasion  for  the  reductio  ad  absurdum, 
supposing  that  to  be  it — a  point  which  remains  tb  be  estab- 
lished. Many  a  Yankee  '  hired  man '  has  both  the  wish  and 
the  capacity  to  learn  Latin,  and  you  might  be  worse  em- 
ployed than  in  teaching  him.  Knowledge — I  cannot  too 
strongly  impress  it  ypoii  you — always  imposes  responsi- 
bility. To  know,  may  be  merely  to  hoard  up  facts  as  a 
miser  does  money ;  to  impart,  is  the  secret  of  usefulness. 
Whenever  a  full  mind  meets  an  empty  one,  it  is  a  call  to 
teach,  not  to  scoiF;  when  refinement  encounters  roughness, 
it  is  a  call  to  influence,  not  to  shun ;  when  a  higher  nature 
comes  in  contact  with  a  lower  one,  it  is  a  call  to  lift  up,  not 


SHILOH.  185 

to  thrust  down.  Whenever  God  places  you  among  people 
less  cultured,  less  accomplished,  less  refined,  or  less  heaven- 
enlightened  than  yourself,  be  sure  that  He  maketh  you  to 
differ,  chiefly,  that  you  may  be  instrumental  in  lessening 
that  difference. 

MALA  (with  a  sneer).  Which  means,  being  interpreted, 
that  you  must  not  only  give  lessons  in  music,  vocal  and  in- 
strumental, to  Ruth  Winnot,  and  lessons  in  Latin  and 
Greek  to  the  hired  man ;  but  lessons  in  the  elements  of 
criticism  and  the  canons  of  taste  to  Alice  Prescott,  lessons 
in  meekness  and  urbanity  to  her  mother,  in  etymology  to 
Aunt  Yin,  in  good  nature  and  liberality  to  Mrs.  Burcham, 
in  simplicity  to  Mrs.  Danforth,  etc.,  etc.,  ad  infinitum.  I 
wish  you  joy  of  your  labors  ! 

Weary  of  the  discussion,  I  ended  it  by  opening  the 
door  of  the  parlor.  Ruth  had  removed  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  and  Avas  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with 
clasped  hands,  looking  at  my  piano  as  if  she  believed  that 
all  things  beautiful,  harmonious,  and  delightful, were  boxed 
up  therein,  and  could  be  brought  forth  by  the  strong  mag- 
netism of  her  fixed  gaze.  What  a  different  face1  it  was 
from  the  one  which  had  met  me  on  the  previous  evening  ! 
That  was  full  of  pallor,  gloom,  depression,  hopelessness, 
this  was  flushed,  bright,  eager,  expectant.  That  might 
have  served  as  a  model  for  a  statue  of  despair  ;  this  for  a 
picture  of  hope.  The  change  was  so  striking  that  I  could 
not  help  an  allusion  to  it. 

"  Ruth,  do  you  know  the  meaning  of  your  name  ?  " 

"  Xo, — do  you  ?     Tell  me,  please !  " 

"  It  means, '  satisfied.'  When  I  first  saw  you,  I  thought 
it  a  misnomer,  but  I  think,  now,  there  is  a  prospect  that  it 
may  fit  you  excellently  well,  some  day." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  she  replied,  archly. 
"  When  I  can  sing  as  well  as  you  do,  I  shall  be  more  than 
satisfied, — proud.  You  will  have  to  find  me  a  name  that 
signifies  '  conceit,'  if  you  want  a  perfect  fit,  Miss  Frost !  " 


186  SHILOH. 

It  was  good  to  see  her  so  ready  and  so  gay.  Yet  I 
scarcely  recognized  the  Ruth  of  yesterday  in  the  Ruth  of 
to-day.  Her  own  apt  and  touching  metaphor  recurred  to 
me  with  renewed  force.  She  was,  in  truth,  like  a  deep- 
buried  seed,  which,  when  the  superincumbent  weight  is  op- 
portunely removed,  finds  the  blessing  of  its  long,  sore,  un- 
availing travail  within  itself,  in  being  able  to  put  forth 
stalks  and  leaves  in  a  single  night. 

"  I  do  not  fear  that,"  I  responded.  "  The  true  mu- 
sician, like  the  true  artist  or 'the  true  Christian,  finds  his 
standard  rising  ever  faster  than  himself.  The  increasing 
distance  between  the  two  keeps  him  humble." 

She  looked  very  grave  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said, 
entreatingly,  "  Won't  you  play  me  something  ?  " 

"  Business  before  pleasure,  if  you  please,"  responded  I, 
opening  the  piano  and  taking  possession  of  the  music-stool. 
"  That  is  to  say ; — lessons  first  and  play  afterward,  is  the 
true  order  of  things.  Look  over  that  pile  of  songs,  and 
see  if  you  can  find  anything  you  know.  First,  I  have  to 
get  a  clear  idea  of  the  quality  and  capacity  of  your  voice." 

She  obeyed  like  a  child.  When  she  had  selected  "  Auld 
Robin  Gray,"  and  laid  it  open  before  me  on  the  rack,  she 
interrupted  the  first  chords  with  the  question,  "  Where  is 
Alice  ?  " 

"  She  is  somewhere  about  the  house,  I  suppose." 

"  May  I  go  and  find  her  ?  She  was  my  first  friend,  you 
know, — my  only  friend  before  you  came, — and  I  want  her 
to  share  in  everything  good  that  comes  to  me.  Do  you 
mind  having  her  here  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  do  not  mind  it.  But  most  peo- 
ple prefer  to  have  no  spectators  or  auditors  to  their  first 
singing-lessons.  The  initiatory  exercises  are  far  from  melo- 
dious, Ruth." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  Alice ;  and  she  needn't  stay  if  she 
doesn't  like.  But  I  don't  want  to  begin  without  her,  just 
as  if  I  meant  to  shut  her  out  of  the  matter  entirely." 


SHILOH.  187 

Alice  being  found  and  seated  in  an  eligible  position,  I 
played  the  accompaniment  to  "  Auld  Robin  Gray,"  and 
Ruth  sang  it,  taking  all  things  into  consideration,  sur- 
prisingly well.  Of  course,  she  could  not  fully  understand, 
nor  adequately  interpret,  all  the  long  patience  of  sorroAV 
and  the  subtile  consolations  of  duty  which  are  shadowed 
forth  in  its  exquisite  words  and  music  ; — but  her  voice  was 
so  sympathetic,  and  her  musical  instinct  so  fine,  that  she 
immediately  caught  and  imitated  whatever  expression  I 
gave  to  the  accompaniment,  and  some  of  her  tones  were 
marvellous  in  their  pathos,  bringing  tears  to  my  eyes. 
Did  God  subject  her  to  the  long,  life  strain  of  deformity,  I 
wonder,  just  to  put  those  tones  in  her  voice ;  as  a  tuner 
tightens  the  strings  of  his  instrument  well  nigh  to  break- 
ing,, in  order  to  bring  them  up  to  the  desired  pitch  ?  Had 
He  made  her  life,  up  to  this  time,  little  else  than  a  fever  of 
pain,  shame,  and  longing,  that  she  might  be  attuned  to 
manifold  accordance  with  the  hidden  sorrows  of  all  lives, 
and  the  intricate  and  the  involved  harmonies  of  His  mys- 
terious Providence ;  and  so  made  capable  of  showing 
forth  to  the  world,  through  the  subtile  significances  of 
sound,  what  unutterably  rich,  grand,  and  sweet  chords  are 
formed  from  the  combinations  of  sorrow,  patience,  faith, 
and  love  ? 

Testing  Ruth's  voice  by  the  scales,  I  found  that  it  ran 
easily  from  G  below  the  staff  to  B  above, — a  present  com- 
pass that  gave  promise  of  excellent  things  in  future.  I 
had  a  pupil  whom  it  would  be  a  delight  to  instruct.  The 
real  drudgery  of  music-teaching  was  spared  me ;  sh.e 
could  already  read  plain  music,  with  considerable  facility, 
at  sight. 

I  gave  her  a  singing-lesson  first ;  then  one  on  the  piano. 
She  took  both  with  an  ease  and  readiness  that  seemed 
like  almost  unerring  intuition.  I  quickly  saw  that  she 
would  give  all  diligence  to  the  practical  part  of  music; 
but  precious  little  heed  to  the  theoretical,  if  she  could  help 


188  SHILOH. 

it.  She  would  prefer  to  act  upon  its  principles,  without 
taking  the  trouble  to  understand  them. 

Not  so  with  Alice.  Her  interested  and  thoughtful  face, 
showed  plainly  that  she  fully  comprehended  all  my  expla- 
nations and  directions  :  and  she  was  particularly  responsive 
(so  far  as  looks  went,  for  Alice  is  no  talker)  to  every  spir- 
itual analogy  I  brought  forth,  or  to  any  historical  or  biog- 
raphical details  that  occurred  to  me  in  connection  with  the 
lesson. 

When  I  said, — "  All  really  beautiful  and  touching  musi- 
cal compositions  have  more  or  less  modulations  into  the 
minor  key ;  which  shows  the  intimate  relation  between  life 
and  art,  and  illustrates  the  truth  that  human  lives  derive 
their  richest  harmonies  from  disappointment  and  depriva- 
tion and  pain," — it  was  Alice's  face  that  lit  up  most  under- 
standingly  and  seemed  to  follow  out  the  thought. 

When  I  explained  that  in  ancient  times  music  was  a  fa- 
vorite study  of  monks  and  friars,  and  that  one  of  those  de- 
vout men, — Guido  a  Benedictine  of  the  tenth  century — 
named  the  seven  tones  of  the  diatonic  scale,  Ut,  Re,  Mi,  Fa, 
etc.,  from  the  first  syllables  of  each  line  of  an  old  Latin 
hymn,  the  words  of  which  were ; — 

"  Ut  queant  laxis  -Resonare  fibris, 
Mir&  gestorum  .Tfojnuli  tuorum, 
Solve  polluti  Labii  reatum, 
/Sancte  Johannes!" — 

it  was  Alice,  not  Ruth,  that  asked,  "Why  'Ut'  was 
changed  to 'Do'?" 

And  when  I  answered,  "  I  do  not  know  precisely ;  it  is 
supposed  because  '  Do '  gives  a  more  open  vowel  sound,  but 
I  should  like  to  think  that  it  was  selected  because  it  is  a 
part  of  the  first  syllable  of  the  Latin  word  Dominus — or 
Lord — by  some  equally  holy  man,  who  would  fain  conse- 
crate the  musical  scale  by  beginning  and  ending  it  with  the 
thought  of  God ;  at  any  rate,  it  will  not  hurt  us  to  have 


SHILOH.  189 

that  association  with  it," — Alice's  eyes  kindled  softly,  and 
she  fell  into  a  long  fit  of  musing.  I  grew  interested  in  my 
silent,  yet  sympathetic,  listener. 

When  the  piano-lesson  was  over,  I  inquired,  "  Ruth,  how 
old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Seventeen — almost  eighteen,"  answered  she,  looking  a 
little  surprised. 

"  Are  you  aware  that  she  who  does  not  commence  piano- 
music  until  she  is  eighteen  has  a  deal  of  hard  work  before 
her,  if  she  accomplishes  anything  woi'th  her  while  ?  The 
joints  and  muscles  have  already  lost  somewhat  of  their  first 
flexibility,  and  two  hours  of  practice  will  not  profit  her  so 
much  as  one  hour  would  have  done  at  an  earlier  age. 
'Which  fact,  by  the  way,  has  a  bearing  on  other  things 
than  music.  Affections  lose  their  spring  and  pliancy  as 
well  as  muscles,  Ruth,  and  habits  stiffen  not  less  inevitably 
than  joints, — as  many  a  ninth-hour  disciple  of  Christ  has 
found,  to  his  cost ;  struggling  with  the  miserable  inaptitude 
of  a  mind  and  heart  that  have  not  been  trained  and  fitted 
for  their  work  by  the  practice  and  the  tenor  of  years.  But 
I  am  wandering  from  the  point.  How  much  time  and  pa- 
tience have  you  to  bring  to  the  study  of  music  ?  " 

"  All  the  time  that  is  necessary,"  she  answered.  "  And 
as  for  patience,  I  shall  not  need  any,  I  love  music  so 
much  ! " 

I  shook  my  head  gravely.  "  Excellence  in  any  pursuit 
is  the  late,  ripe  fruit  of  toil,  and  toil  must  needs  be  weari- 
some, at  times :  the  willingness  of  the  spirit  cannot  always 
prevail  over  the  weakness  of  the  flesh." 

"You  cannot  frighten  me,  if  you  try,"  she  rejoined, 
cheerily.  "  I  have  some  little  idea  of  what  is  before  me, 
for  I  learned  to  read  music,  and  to  play  the  accordeon, 
without  any  teacher,  and  it  cost  me  some  patient  study,  I 
assure  you." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  frighten  you,  Ruth.  I  only  desire 
that  you  should  commence  the  study  of  music  as  the  Church 


190  SHILOII. 

exhorts  her  children  to  enter  upon  the  holy  estate  of  mat- 
rimony, '  discreetly,  advisedly,  soberly,  and  in  the  fear  of 
God.'  I  do  not  want  to  be  instrumental  in  adding  to  the 
innumerable  company  of  musical  inexperts, — girls  who 
treat  the  divine  art  of  melody  precisely  as  they  do  their 
worsted-work,  taking  it  up  and  laying  it  down  according  as 
convenience  suits  or  inclination  prompts ;  with  no  thought 
of  time  to  be  redeemed  nor  talent  to  be  accounted  for,  and ' 
utterly  regardless  of  its  claims  to  respect  as  a  means  to 
greater  usefulness  in  the  world,  and  a  neAV  and  noble  branch 
of  service  entered  upon  for  God.  The  legitimate  fruit  of 
which  desultory  and  irreverent  culture  appears  in  the  slov- 
enly, inaccurate,  disjointed  playing  that  one  hears  every- 
where,— I  have  gotten  to  expect  it  so  invariably,  that  the ' 
wonder  is  when  I  hear  it  not.  A  young  lady,  whose  cheeks 
would  tingle  with  shame  if  she  were  forced  to  exhibit  her 
room  in  disorder,  or  her  work-basket  filled  with  a  life-accu- 
mulation of  unfinished  beginnings  and  dismembered  parts 
of  garments,  or  herself  in  a  dress  that  was  not  thoroughly 
neat,  complete,  and  en  regie  /  does  not  scruple  in  the  least 
to  bring  before  a  roomful  of  strange  people  a  musical  com- 
position in  rags  and  tatters,  jagged  beginnings  and  ends  of 
melodies,  and  parts  of  harmonies  cruelly  rent  asunder  and 
unlawfully  patched  together.  She  seems  wholly  uncon- 
scious that  such  a  performance,  for  every  lover  of  music, 
stamps  her  character  with  feebleness,  inaccuracy,  indolence, 
and  a  lamentable  lack  of  conscientiousness,  just  as  certainly 
and  indelibly  as  a  riotous  room,  a  tangled,  scrappy  work- 
basket,  or  disordered  attire." 

"  Like1 ?  "  questioned  Ruth,  archly. 

"  Like  no  one  whom  we  have  the  mutual  honor  to  know, 
Ruth.  I  am  too  newly  come  to  Shiloh  to  be  able  to  point 
my  remai'ks  with  personal  illustrations.  Nor  do  I  care  to 
find  an  original  for  my  sketch ;  I  am  only  anxious  that  it 
shall  in  nowise  resemble  you.  There  is  so  much  involved 
in  any  study,  Ruth,  beside  the  mere  acquisition  of  knowl- 


sniLon.  191 

cdo-e.     First,  there  is  the  manner.     If  we  are  exact  and  dilr 

o  y 

gent  in  its  prosecution,  we  form  habits  of  accuracy  and  in- 
xlustry  that  we  shall  be  likely  to  carry  into  every  other  pur- 
suit, to  our  manifold  advantage ;  whereas,  if  we  prosecute 
it  loosely  and  indolently,  the  habits  thus  acquired  cling  to 
us  and  impair  our  efficiency  in  everything  else.  Then,  the 
object— by  the  way,  what  is  your  object  in  studying 
music  ?  " 

Ruth  looked  down,  and  hesitated.  "  I  know  that  is  not 
what  I  ought  to  say,"  she  answered,  finally,  "but  I  am 
afraid  it  is  just  my  own  pleasure  and  improvement.  Mu- 
sic is  my  chief  delight ;  and  then,  I  am  ambitious — a 
little." 

"  These  may  answer  for  secondary  motives,  if  there  is  a 
better  primary  one  to  keep  them  in  due  subordination." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  the  glory  of  God,"  she  replied, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  But,  Miss  Frost,  I  really  can't  see  how 
my  music  is  to  help  that,  except  when  I  sing  in  church." 

"  I  suspect  I  should  be  no  clearer-sighted,  Ruth,  if  my 
father  had  not  taken  such  pains  to  teach  me  how  possible 
.  it  is  to  make  all  our  doings,  in  a  certain  sense,  religious 
acts  : — in  much  that  I  say,  you  are  only  getting  his  ripe 
wisdom  at  second-hand.  He  used  often  to  quote  to  me 
that  matchless  verse  of  George  Herbert : 

'  A  servant  with  this  clause,' 
(the  said  clause  being,  '  For  thy  sake?) 

Makes  drudgery  divine, 

Who  sweeps  a  room,  as  for  Thy  laws, 

Makes  that  and  the  action  fine.' " 

Alice  •  drew  a  long  breath,  and  her  eyes  lit  up  softly. 
"  Will  you  repeat  that  once  more,  Miss  Frost-?  " 

I  complied,  doing  my  best  to  bring  out  the  full  beauty 
and  vigor  of  the  lines. 

She  repeated  them  over  again,  in  a  dreamy  undertone, 
and  then  said,  "  I  have  it  now.  Thank  you." 


192  SHILOH. 

"  You  have  the  words,  certainly.  But  are  you  in  pos- 
session of  their  whole  wealth  of  meaning  ?  We  all  know, 
to  be  sure,  what  sort  of  a  transfiguration  the  hardest  and 
coarsest  duties  undergo  when  done  for  the  sake  of  one  we 
love, — often  exchanging  their  squalid,  unlovely,  repulsive 
aspect  for  one  that  is  positively  winning  and  delightful, — 
but  do  we  comprehend  so  readily  all  that  is  implied  in 
sweeping  a  room  '  as  for  Thy  laws  ?'  I  think  white  Avings 
of  angels  would  hover  delightedly  over  the  work  !  The 
servant,  so  sweeping,  would  bring  into  active  exercise  all 
the  Christian  virtues  ;  namely: — Obedience, — he  is  obedi- 
ent to  the  law,  '  Servants,  obey  your  masters,'  and  to  God, 
the  Lawgiver  ;  Humility, — he  is  not  above  his  work,  he  is 
only  solicitous  that  it  shall  not  prove  that  his  work  was 
above  him ;  Meekness, — he  bears  with  his  master's  reproofs 
and  his  own  mistakes,  patiently;  Faithfulness, — he  does 
his  task  thoroughly,  putting  his  broom  into  all  the  corners 
and  hidden  places,  '  as  seeing  one  who  is  invisible '  inspect- 
ing his  work  ;  Honesty, — he  takes  nothing  from  the  room, 
not  so  much  as  a  pin  from  the  floor,  that  does  not  belong 
to  him  ;  Diligence, — he  is  careful  not  to  waste  his  master's 
time,  nor  God's;  Contentment, — instead  of  fretting  and 
repining  because  he  has  to  work,  or  because  the  work  is  of 
a  homely  sort,  he  feels  the  blessing  of  having  work  so 
plain,  so  immediate,  so  free  from  difficulties  and  entangle- 
ments, that  he  cannot  well  go  wrong  in  it ;  Trust,^— he  be- 
lieves that  his  Lord  knows  what  work  is  best  for  him  now, 
and  will  give  him  other  and  higher  work  so  soon  as  he  is 
fit  for  it ;  Hope, — he  remembers  joyfully  the  rest  that  rc- 
maineth,  and  the  glory  that  shall  be  revealed ;  Lastly — 
that  crowning  grace! — Love, — he  is  full  of  kind  thought 
and  delicate  consideration  for  those  to  whose  comfort  he  is 
ministering,  careful  to  leave  the  master's  easy-chair  just  at 
the  angle  he  likes  best,  the  mistress's  work-table  free  from 
dust,  the  invalid's  couch  where  the  light  falls  softest, — 
everything  so  arranged  as  to  give  the  greatest  satisfaction 


SHILOH.  193 

to  the  eye,  the  deepest  repose  to  the  mind.  He  can,  if  he 
will,  consecrate  his  work  with  prayer,  and  sweeten  it  with 
thoughts  of  our  Saviour  bending  His  sacred  head  over  a  car- 
penter's bench,  and  St.  Paul  plying  his  trade  of  tent- 
maker.  How  truly  such  sweeping  makes  both  the  room 
and  the  action  '  fine  ! '  Now  take  that  same  potent  '  clause ' 
into  the  study  of  music,  and  see  how  inevitably  a  Christian 
must  be  a  better  musician  than  a  worldling — other* things 
being  equal." 

"  Still,"  suggested  Alice,  "  one  might  think  it  right  to 
learn  just  enough  of  music  to  make  home  pleasant,  with- 
out having  any  strong  musical  bias,  or  expecting  ever  to 
become  an  accomplished  musician." 

"  If  one  does,  Alice,  one  will  be  likely  to  prove  conclu- 
sively, in  one's  own  person,  how  little  advantage  results 
from  any  study  of  importance,  which  is  not  taken  up  se- 
riously, and  carried  on  regularly,  with  a  view  to  the  great- 
est proficiency  that  is  within  the  student's  reach.  If  there 
is  no  strong  natural  bent,  the  more  need  of  persistent  study 
and  practice  ;  the  pleasantness  of  home  will  not  be  much  en- 
hanced by  a  soulless,  slovenly,  disjointed  performance.  The 
real  inoperativeness,  or  insincerity,  of  this  motive  generally 
appears  when  marriage  and  motherhood'  bring  new  cares 
to  the  player  or  singer.  The  sweet  accomplishment  of  har- 
mony, which  was  to  add  so  rich  a  charm  to  the  home-pre- 
cinct, is  dropped  and  forgotten  so  soon  as  the  musician 
really  has  a  home,  for  whose  delight  and  discomforts  she 
is,  mainly,  responsible." 

Alice  looked  troubled.  "You  would  not  think  it 
right,"  said  she,  "  for  a  mother  to  neglect  her  children  for 
her  music  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  But  the  mothers  of  whom  I  am  speak- 
ing lavish  time  enough  upon  their  own  and  their  children's 
finery,  not  only  to  keep  up  their  music,  but  to  make  con- 
tinual progress  in  it.  Yet  which  accords  best  with  that 
sweet  ideal  of  motherhood  which  we  all  hallow  in  our 
9 


194  SIIILOH. 

hearts  ? — she  who  spends  an  hour  or  two  «f  each  day  in 
embroidering,  tucking,  and  trimming  her  child's  garments, 
making  its  babyhood  unlovely  with  pride,  and  its  maturity 
sinful  with  extravagance  ;  or  she  who  surrounds  its  young 
life  with  an  atmosphere  of  soft,  melodious,  spiritualizing 
sounds,  training  it  early  to  comprehend  the  laws  and  the 
significances  of  harmony,  and  bringing  it,  by  easy  and  im- 
perceptible degrees,  into  lovely  accordance  with  all  that  is 
good  and  sweet  and  ennobling  in  art  or  in  nature  ?  Which 
of  them  will  the  children  reverence  most  ?  Which  will 
they  rise  up  to  call  '  blessed,'  when  death  paralyzes  alike 
the  fingers  that  ply  the  embroidery-needle  and  the  fingers 
that  wake  the  white,  singing  keys  ?  Which  memory  will 
send  the  sweetest,  most  pathetic  strain  down  through  their 
future  lives  ?  Easy  it  is  to  answer ! — the  garments  that 
we  have  worn  fade  quickly  from  our  recollection — most 
emphatically  they  '  perish  in  the  using ;' — but  the  melodies 
that  sweetened  our  childhood,  the  songs  that  we  sang  with 
our  mother  in  the  twilight, — these  are  among  the  things 
which  our  hearts  cherish  to  their  latest  throb  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  wrong,  then,  to  trim  our  garments 
and  make  them  pretty  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  smiling.  "  Do  you  really  think  that 
'  trimming  '  and  '  making  pretty '  are  convertible  terms, 
Ruth  ?  Any  artist  will  tell  you  that  much  of  the  trim- 
ming, which  costs  us  so  much  time  and  money,  is  only  a 
making  ugly.  But,  allowing  that  its  end  is  beauty,  and 
that  it  always  accomplishes  that  end,  is  there  no  distinc- 
tion to  be  made  between  the  high  beauty  and  the  low  one  ? 
The  beauty  of  lovely  melodies  is  infinitely  greater  than  the 
beauty  of  lovely  garments ;  the  former,  therefore,  should  be 
first  sought  after  to  beautify  our  homes.  The  real  trouble 
is,  that  women  do  not  rightly  divide  their  duties.  Con- 
sciously, or  not,  we  each  make  to  ourselves  two  catalogues 
of  the  day's  labors ;  one  under  the  head  of  '  Things  that 
must  be  done,'  the  other  of  '  Things  that  may  be  done.' 


SHILOH.  195 

Then  we  put  the  tucks,  the  flounces,  and  embroideries,  the 
rich  cakes  and  pastry,  and  the  fashionable  calls,  under  the 
head  of  '  Must,'  and  the  music,  the  reading  aloud  of  the 
best  authors,  and  kindred  duties,  under  the  head  of  '  May.' 
The  body  must  be  pampered ;  the  mind  may  be  fed,  or 
starved,  as  it  happens.  Thence  come  endless  toil  of  the 
most  slavish,  exhausting,  unsatisfying  kind,  continual  de- 
terioration, and  the  sharp  gnawing  of  discontent." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  "  Do  you  think,  then,"  said 
Alice,  timidly,  "  that  no  one  ought  to  learn  music,  who  can; 
not  give  some  regular  time  to  it  daily  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  too  hard  a  saying.  Where  there  is 
genuine  talent,  and  the  way  open,  it  might  do  to  begin  by 
devoting  all  the  odds  and  ends  of  time  to  the  work,  and  so 
making  a  kind  of  regularity  of  irregularity.  If  this  were 
done  patiently  and  scrupulously,  I  think  God  would,  ere 
long,  give  the  regular  time  needful.  If  it  did  not  come,  I 
should  consider  it,  in  most  cases,  a  clear  indication  that  the 
music  must  be  given  up." 

"  What !  when  there  is  real  talent !  "  exclaimed  Ruth  in 
amazement.  "  Do  you  think  God  ever  gives  a  talent  which 
he  does  not  mean  us  to  cultivate  ?  " 

"  Rarely ;  I  never  knew  such  a  case,  yet  it  may  exist. 
Given  talent,  energy,  patience,  and  faith  ;  and  the  opportu- 
nity for  growth  and  the  opening  for  usefulness  generally 
follow.  But  if  there  be,  anywhere,  a  heart  heavy  with  the 
sense  of  germs  of  talent  undeveloped,  denied  all  time  and 
space  for  unfolding,  kept  down  by  illness,  or  by  a  multi- 
tude of  homely,  yet  genuine  and  pressing  duties ;  let  it 
take  comfort  in  the  certainty  that  God  means  it  to  attain, 
by  this  thorny  road  of  constraint  and  privation,  unto  high- 
er and  heavenlicr  things  than  it  might  have  won  in  the 
freest  exercise  of  its  talents, — even  unto  the  sweet  patience 
of  hope,  the  repose  of  unquestioning  obedience,  the  bless- 
edness of  sacrifice.  '  They  also  serve  who  stand  and  wait,' 
says  Milton  of  the  celestial  host." 


196  SHILOH. 

Alice's  face  lit  up  radiantly.  Ruth  looked  half-scared, 
half-exultant.  "  Such  a  life  would  be  a  bitter  one  for  me," 
she  said,  with  a  slow  shake  of  the  head.  "  I  tasted  it  be- 
fore jon  came,  and  I  did  not  find  out  the  sweetness  nor  the 
comfort  in  it.  I  am  so  glad  you  came,  Miss  Frost ! " — giv- 
ing me  a  quick,  impetuous  caress. 

"  That  reminds  me  that  we  have  not  yet  agreed  upon 
the  terms  of  payment  for  these  lessons." 

She  looked  utterly  confounded.  "  I  thought " — she  be- 
gan, and  then  stopped. 

"  You  thought  I  was  to  give  them  freely  and  uncondi- 
tionally ?  Not  altogether.  '  If  ye  hae  nae  purse  to  fine,  ye 
hae  flesh  to  pine,'  says  the  old  Scotch  proverb.  I  have  a 
mind  to  play  Shylock  with  you.  I  shall  exact  a  llesh-and- 
blood  payment." 

Ruth  opened  her  eyes  at  me  in  speechless  amazement. 
Alice  only  smiled.  I  was  beginning  to  remark  the  latter's 
quickness  of  comprehension  wherever  any  spiritual  analogy 
was  implied.  I  had  already  learned  that  her  faculty  of  ob- 
servation was  unusually  keen  and  delicate ;  it  even  annoyed 
me  a  little,  at  times,  to  see  that  every  emotion  which  dis- 
turbed the  surface  of  my  consciousness,  appeared  to  have 
its  answering  ripple  on  hers.  Not,  evidently,  because  she 
sought  to  inspect  or  to  analyze  my  feelings;  the  power 
seemed  to  be  most  involuntarily  exercised,  and  was  even  a 
source  of  embarrassment.  Often,  when  her  eye  met  mine, 
she  colored  and  turned  away,  as  if  there  were  such  a  crime 
as  spiritual  theft,  and  she  had  been  detected  in  it.  In  a 
loved  and  trusted  friend,  such  facility  of  comprehension 
would  be  invaluable,  sparing  one  much  painful  travail  of 
speech ;  but  in  an  indifferent  person,  it  came  near  to  being 
an  intolerable  nuisance.  And,  up  to  this  time,  I  had  not 
taken — as  the  phrase  goes — to  Alice  Prescott.  She  was 
afflicted  with  such  an  overpowering  and  inveterate  shyness 
— oftener  taking  the  form  of  stiffness  and  unresponsiveness 
than  of  open  confusion  of  face— that  one's  course  of  ac- 


SHILOH.  197 

quaintanceship  necessarily  ran  slow ;  and  I  had  easily  slid- 
clen  into  the  habit  of  letting  her  very  much  alone.  Yet  I 
had  found  myself  watching  her,  now  and  then,  with  an  in- 
explicable curiosity ;  a  vague  suspicion  that  the  depths  of 
her  life  might  be  worth  sounding,  if  one  only  had  the  means 
and  the  inclination ;  and  a  dim  wonder  if  my  own  disinclina- 
tion were  not  the  sickly,  noxious  outgrowth  of  spiritual  in- 
dolence, rather  than  a  manifestation  of  that  most  rare  and 
righteous  quality — respect  for  another's  individuality.  And 
when  I  had  gotten  thus  far,  Mala  always  sneered  or  railed, 
and  my  thoughts  wandered  from  the  subject. 

After  a  momentary  enjoyment  of  Ruth's  astonished 
face,  I  went  on. 

"  Flesh  and  blood  are  figurative  terms,  dear ;  they  stand 
Itere  for  labor  and  love.  The  time  will  come  when  you,  in 
your  turn,  will  be  competent  to  teach  and  help  some  wait- 
ing, wistful  soul,  quick  with  musical  power,  yet  knowing 
not  how  to  develop  it : — promise  me  that  you  will  do  it,  for 
my — no,  for  Christ's  sake.  These  are  my  terms,  Ruth." 

Her  brown  eyes  filled  slowly  with  tears.  "  Oh !  Miss 
Frost,  you  knew — you  surely  knew  that  you  did  not  need 
to  ask  that ! "  she  exclaimed,  half-reproachfully.  "  Of 
course  I  should  do  it  ;•  I  could  not  help  doing  it !  Don't  I 
know  how  it  feels  to  long  for  a  teacher,  and  culture,  and 
growth,  and  not  to  have  them  !  " 

Then  she  stood  upright,  dashing  away  her  tears.  "  Oh ! 
I  will  promise  more  than  that,"  she  went  on,  passionately, 
"  for  you  know  you  have  not  gone  to  the  root  of  the  mat- 
ter, Miss  Frost !  Whenever  I  meet  some  poor,  proud,  dis- 
couraged, and  deformed  creature,  who  would  reproach  God 
for  making  her,  if  she  dared,  and  who  shrinks  from  every 
human  eye  as  if  it  had  an  arrow  in  it — I  will  try  what  can 
be  done  to  lift  her  up  and  help  her.  If  she  has  any  grace, 
or  beauty,  or  talent,  or  good  gift  of  any  kind,  I  will  find  it 
out  and  hold  it  up  before  her,  to  prove  to  her  that  God  is 
still  good,  and  to  encourage  her  to  work  and  pray ;  while 


198  SHILOH. 

my  own  ready  help  and  sympathy  and  tenderness,  shall 
make  her  ashamed  of  ever  having  distrusted  man."  And, 
she  added  solemnly,  after  a  moment,  "  I  will,  so  help  me 
God!" 

I  drew  the  excited,  enthusiastic  speaker  toward  me,  and 
kissed  her,  through  my  tears.  Alice  laid  her  head  on  the 
piano  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Ruth  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence,  passing  quickly 
from  the  extreme  of  exaltation  to  a  half-playful  mood  ; 
showing  the  real  buoyancy  and  elasticity  of  her  spirits,  in 
their  natural  play.  "My  first  scholar  is  close  by,"  she  said, 
laying  her  hand  on  Alice's  head — "  thoxigh  she  isn't  of  that 
sort,  you  know.  As  soon  as  I  know  enough,  I  mean  to 
give  Alice  lessons.  Unless,"  she  added,  as  if  the*  idea  had 
suddenly  occurred  to  her,  "you  are  going  to  do  it  your- 
self." 

Alice  turned  crimson.  "  I  could  not  think  of  troubling 
Miss  Frost  so  much,"  she  said,  hastily ;  "  it  is  quite  enough 
for  her  to  have  to  teach  one  of  us.  I  am  content  to  wait 
for  you,  Ruth — I  shall  only  get  her  teaching  at  second- 
hand. Besides,"  she  continued,  looking  at  me  in  a  doubt- 
ful, deprecating  way,  "  she  would  not  think  it  worth  while ; 
I  am  afraid  I  have  no  natural  talent  for  music." 

I  hesitated,  touched  by  her  wistful  look,  yet  doubtful  if 
encouragement  were  the  right  thing  to  give  her. 

"  Sometimes,  the  means  seem  to  justify  the  end,"  I  said, 
at  last.  "  One  may  labor  so  assiduously  and  so  lovingly  as 
to  create  a  talent  where  it  did  not  exist.  But  the  training 
should  begin  early,  to  do  that,  in  music.  If  you  were  nine, 
instead  of  nineteen,  I  should  not  hesitate.  As  it  is,  I  con- 
fess that  the  expediency  seems  doubtful;  that  is,  if  you 
have  anything  better  to  do.  In  Ruth's  case,  the  strong 
native  bias  will  go  a  great  way ;  besides,  it  is  her  voice  that 
I  chiefly  count  upon  to  repay  culture ;  it  is  not  too  late  to 
work  upon  that,  to  good  advantage.  If  she  learns  enough 
of  the  piano  to  be  able  to  accompany  herself  tolerably  well, 


SHILOH  199 

it  is  all  that  I  look  for.  In  your  case — let  me  see  your 
hand,  Alice." 

She  gave  it  to  me  with  a  bewildered  face. 

"  I  am  not  a  fortune-teller,  though  it  does  look  a  little 
like  it,"  I  said,  smiling  at  her  amazement.  "  But  there  are 
musical  hands,  Alice — Ruth  has  them.  The  fingers  ai'e 
long,  the  joints  firm,  yet  flexible,  the  movement  rapid  and 
forceful.  Now  yours — really!  it  is  the  oddest  circum- 
stance !  Where  do  you  suppose  I  saw  the  duplicates  of 
your  hands,  Alice?" 

"  Indeed,  I  cannot  imagine." 

"  In  Italy,  I  met  one  of  our  sweetest  poetesses  there. 
She  had  just  such  hands  as  these — small,  white,  cool,  soft, — 
they  seemed  to  melt  in  my  grasp  as  if  they  were  made  of 
mist, — with  nails  not  quite  perfect  in  shape,  too,  because, 
as  she  told  me,  with  a  little  laugh  of  vexation  at  herself, 
she  had  the  habit  of  biting  them  in  her  youth,  and  suspect- 
ed she  sometimes  did  it  still,  when  s'ue  was  in  a  brown 
study !  But  there  was  no  music  in  them,  Alice,  except 
such  as  flowed  from  the  point  of  her  pen ;  which  is,  after 
all,  the  sweetest,  richest  music — far  wider  in  its  scope  and 
influence  than  any  music  of  tone  simply.  For  poetry  is  the 
highest  of  all  the  arts." 

Alice  looked  down  shyly,  yet  with  something  bright  in 
her  face.  Ruth  gave  her  a  smile  and  a  meaning  glance. 
Then  she  said  to  me,  nodding  her  head : — 

"  You  have  hit  Alice  exactly.  She  used  to  bite  her 
nails  in  school — many  a  time  have  I  scolded  her  for  it. 
And  she  makes  verses,  too." 


XIX. 

ALICE    PKESCOTT   IIST  A   NEW   LIGHT. 


was  as  if  scales  fell  from  my  eyes.  Those 
three  words,  "Alice  makes  verses,"  carried  a 
spell  in  them.  All  that  had  seemed  strange,  in- 
complete, or  incongruous,  in  Alice  Prescott,  be- 
came at  once  natural  and  comprehensible.  Her 
character  fell  into  its  place  in  the  harmony  of  the 
universe. 

That  intuitive  comprehension  of  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  others,  under  which  I  had  been  so  restive, 
I  now  saw  to  be  the  rightful  dower  of  the  poet  ;  whose  in- 
sight must  needs  be  of  that  fine,  penetrative  quality,  to 
which  all  of  earth,  and  much  of  heaven,  is  open.  The 
youngest  poet  whose  song  ever  won  the  ear  of  mankind, 
has  always  sung  intelligently  of  many  things  wherewith  lie 
could  have  no  intimate,  personal  acquaintance  ;  but  which 
he  comprehends  as  perfectly  by  intuition  and  sympathy  as 
other  men  by  experience.  He  is  not  only  moved,  but  com 
polled,  —  often  against  his  own  wilf,  and  to  the  damage  of 
his  own  comfort,  —  to  .live  much  in  other  lives,  to  feel  the 
warmth  of  their  sunshine  and  the  chill  of  their  shadow,  to 
be  thrilled  with  their  passions  and  shaken  by  their  conflicts.  . 
Where  his  own  experience  falls  short,  theirs  serves  him  in 
good  stead;  and,  by  the  help  of  delicate  intuition,  ready 
sympathy,  and  instinctive  perception  of  things  so  slight  and 
subtile  as  to  escape  other  observation,  he  is  enabled  to  catch 


201 

every  note  that  humanity  gives  forth  tinder  the  touch  of 
Life,  and  to  weave  it  deftly  into  his  songs. 

Others  of  Alice's  characteristics,  too,  hitherto  unnoted 
in  this  chronicle,  came  crowding  forth  to  get  the  benefit  of 
this  new  light,  and  reveal  themselves  in  their  true  colors 
and  proportions.  She  was  subject  to  fits  of  absence  of 
mind,  from  which  not  even  her  mother's  shrill  voice  aroused 
her,  until  it  had  been  two  or  three  times  exerted,  and  had 
gained  acuteness  by  impatience;  and  there  were  whole 
days  when  she  seemed  to  walk  in  a  dream ;  doing  what- 
ever she  did  in  the  most  mechanical,  unreasoning  fashion ; 
listening  to  your  words  with  ears  fast  locked  against  every 
sound,  and  looking  you  in  the  face  with  eyes  that  had  no 
more  sight  in  them  than  a  blind  man's.  Often  I  had  found 
her  sitting  in  the  porch,  or  on  the  garden  bench,  with  her 
gaze  fastened  on  the  distant  hill-tops ;  and,  at  such  times, 
it  was  plain  that  I  ci'ossed  her  field  of  vision  without  pro- 
ducing any  image  on  her  mind,  if  I  did  upon  her  retinas. 
I  had  inwardly  stigmatized  her,  therefore,  as  listless,  indo- 
lent— a  dreamer  and  an  idler  in  a  world  heavy  with  reali- 
ties, and  teeming  with  work  for  hand  and  brain.  I  now 
inferred  that  these  were  moments  of  inward  life  and  sight, 
full  and  active  in  proportion  to  her  outward  immobility ; 
the  depth  of  her  abstraction  being  the  visible  sign  of  the 
intensity  with  which  she  contemplated  the  flow  of  her  own 
ideas,  and  the  avidity  wherewith  she  received  and  assimi-* 
lated  intellectual  nutriment  from  scenes  and  events  which 
passed  for  an  actual  void  with  her  neighbors. 

She  was  quick  and  skilful  in  the  feminine  accomplish- 
ment of  needlework.  She  had  a  natural  aptitude  for  the 
lighter  and  more  fanciful  parts  of  dress-making  and  mil- 
linery ;  and  a  ready  knack  at  turning  to  good  account  old 
laces,  ribbons,  and  other  debris  of  the  wa*rdrobe,  that  seemed 
little  short  of  miraculous;  yet  was  only  the  result  of  a 
quick  eye  for  latent  beauties  of  form  and  color,  and  a  happy 
facility  in  combining  them.  In  short,  she  had  both  taste 


202  SHILOH. 

and  imagination,  and  could  not  help  lavishing  them  wher- 
ever there  was  material  for  them  to  work  upon.  But  for 
the  coarser  matters  of  the  domestic  routine,  she  appeared 
to  have  an  innate  and  ineradicable  aversion.  She  "  shirked  " 
them  (her  grandmother  said) ;  but  it  was  plain  that  she  did 
it  involuntarily,  rather  than  of  deliberate  purpose.  When 
she^was  forced  to  it,  she  took  them  in  hand  aptly  enough, 
but  with  a  certain  fastidious,  arm's-length  haste,  that  the 
distasteful  duty  might  be  quickly  done  with  ;  or  she  work- 
ed dreamily,  with  a  mind  afar  off.  So  I  had  set  her  hastily 
down  as  a  vain  and  frivolous  girl,  with  her  head  chiefly 
running  on  matters  of  dress,  and  cherishing  in  her  heart 
an  unwise  contempt  and  distaste  for  life's  every-day  duties 
and  burdens.  I  now  saw  that  this  judgment  must  needs 
be  greatly  modified ;  though  it  might  still  be  true,  in  a 
mild  degree, — for  Alice  was  too  young  a  poetess  to  have 
discovered  the  essential  poetry  latent  in  life's  most  prac- 
tical affairs,  the  beauty  that  grows  beside  its  commonest 
walks. 

Yet  she  possessed  something  that  might  soon  lead  to 
the  discovery — the  art  of  practical  arrangement.  She  had 
that  mysterious  happiness  of  touch,  by  which  all  the  hidden 
capabilities  of  things  are  brought  forth  and  made  to  minis- 
ter to  comfort  or  to  taste ; — -a  charming  attribute  in  the 
mistress  of  a  household,  enabling  her  to  organize  a  delight- 
ful enough  home  out  of  apparently  barren  and  incongruous 
elements.  Whatever  Alice  touched  seemed  to  fall  inevita- 
bly into  lines  of  grace.  A  room  where  her  hand  had  been, 
wore  a  cosy,  habitable  aspect,  curiously  in  contrast  with  the 
starched  propriety  of  Mrs.  Prescott's  arrangement.  The 
bouquets  that  she  arranged  looked  as  if  the  flowers  had 
spontaneously  grouped  themselves  together  in  obedience  to 
their  own  lovely  and  mystical  affinities.  The  dishes  of  fruit 
that  she  brought  to  the  table,  wreathed  with  their  own 
leaves,  or  with  buds  and  blossoms  exquisitely  adapted  to 
them  in  fragrance  and  color,  might  have  served  as  studies 


BHILOH.  203 

for  an  artist.  These  works  suited  her ;  they  seemed  to  be  a 
spontaneous  outgrowth,  rather  than  the  result  of  conscious 
volition.  Within  their  sphere,  her  fancy  was  inexhaustible, 
her  invention  akin  to  magic.  It  was  a  mystery  where  she 
got  the  trait ;  it  was  innate,  of  course,  but  not  hereditary, 
— unless  derived  from  some  very  remote  ancestress,  whose 
name  has  dropped  out  of  the  genealogical  table  that  Mrs. 
Divine  keeps  in  a  convenient  niche  of  her  memory,  ready 
to  be  produced  and  consulted,  at  the  shortest  notice. 

The  pleasant  illumination  thus  thrown  upon  Alice's 
character  fell  rosily  over  her  person  also,  and  transfigured 
that  to  my  outer  vision,  as  it  had  the  former  to  my  mental 
view.  She  was  not  beautiful :  beside  Ruth's  rare  and  ar- 
tistic loveliness — the  rich  glory  of  her  auburn  hair,  and  the 
shifting  light  and  shadow  of  her  brown  eyes, — the  pale, 
cool  tints  of  Alice's  face  looked  like  a  crayon  sketch  beside 
a  brilliant  painting.  Nevertheless,  my  glance  now  lingered 
with  pleasure  on  the  graceful  contour  of  her  head,  the  in- 
tellect crowning  her  brow,  the  mystic  depths  of  her 
thoughtful,  far-gazing  eyes,  the  harmonious  lines  of  her 
womanly,  yet  most  petite  figure, — for  Alice  is  small  enough 
to  have  fairy  blood  in  her  veins.  Always  a  little  inclined 
to  genius-worship,  I  began  to  feel  a  half-reverence  for  the 
shy,  silent  girl,  whom  I  had  been  accustomed  to  regard 
with  indifference.  I  was  humbled  to  the  dust  by  the  dis- 
covery of  my  long  blindness ! 

"The  point  that  is  made  against  you,"  said  Bona, 
quietly,  "  being  simply  that  you  cannot  recognize  your 
own  ideal  of  incipient  genius,  when  it  is  taken  out  of  the 
domain  of  imagination,  and  walks  beside  you  daily  in  the 
humble  garb  pf  a  plain,  shy  New  England  maiden,  amid 
the  homely  duties  of  a  New  England  farm-house  ! " 

The  next  moment  I  was  ready  to  laugh  at  my  own  cre- 
dulity, and  satirize  my  late-budding  enthusiasm.  "  Don't  be 
a  goose  !  "  I  said  to  myself,  severely.  "  As  if  every  girl  in 
Christendom  does  not,  during  the  fertile  period  of  her 


204  SHILOH. 

teens,  try  to  make  verses ;  and  succeed  well  enough  to  sat- 
isfy her  own  crude  taste,  and  that  of  some  partial  friends  ! 
As  if  you,  yourself,  had  not  made  a  few  trembling  attempts 
of  the  sort,  which  you  treasured  carefully,  for  a  year  or 
two,  as  possible  gold,  and  threw  away,  at  the  end  of  that 
time,  as  most  certainly  lead ! " 

"  Besides,"  added  Mala,  masquerading  in  the  garb  of 
common  sense,  "  you  know  your  imagination  is  prone  to 
fly  away  with  you,  and  to  drop  you,  not  into  the  valley  of 
Diamonds,  but  that  of  Disappointment.  It  is  absurd  to 
dream  of  finding  two  geniuses  in  this  little  out-of-the-way 
place, — granting  that  Ruth  Winnot  is  one,  which  is  more 
than  I  believe.  And,  amid  all  this  labor  and  thought  for 
others,  what  is  to  become  of  the  rest  that  you  came  to  Shi- 
loh  especially  to  find?  You  know  you  need  it." 

BOJSTA.  Not  yet.  Rest — that  is,  inaction — would  be  far 
more  wearisome  to  you  than  any  work.  The  toiling  hand 
lightens  the  burdened  heart;  the  busy  life  relieves  the 
brooding  mind.  The  rest  "  remaineth." 

Wonderful  is  the  quickness  of  thought !  All  this,  if 
not  in  detail,  yet  in  substance,  passed  through  my  mind 
while  I  still  held  Alice's  hand,  and  before  Ruth  could 
have  had  much  time  to  wonder  at  my  delay  in  reply- 
ing to  the  bit  of  information  wherewith  she  had  favored 
me.  .  In  truth,  I  was  too  much  surprised  by  it,  and  too  un- 
certain how  much  it  might  be  worth,  to  make  any  im- 
mediate, pertinent  answer  possible ;  and  my  words  must 
have  Seemed  to  ignore  it  completely,  when  they  came, 
though,  in  reality,  they  were  not  uninfluenced  by  it.  If 
Alice  really  possessed  the  poetic  faculty,  it  was  another 
reason  why  she  should  not  waste  her  strength  on  a  task  un- 
suited  to  her. 

She  sat,  meanwhile,  with  downcast  eyes,  looking  both 
distressed  and  scared.  I  suspect  she  feared  an  immediate 
demand  for  a  specimen  of  her  verse-making.  Obviously, 
it  was  a  relief  to  her  when  I  only  asked, — 


SIIILOH.  205 

"  Alice,  would  it  be  much  of  a  disappointment  to  you 
not  to  take  music-lessons,  now  or  later  ?  " 

She  met  my  eyes  with  unusual  directness  and  frankness. 
"  I  think  it  would — a  little ;  I  thought  I  should  like  it  very 
much.  But,"  she  added,  with  a  very  sweet,  docile  look, 
"I  can  trust  your  judgment  about  it,  Miss  Frost.  It  shall 
be  yes  or  no,  just  as  you  say." 

"  Decidedly  no,  then.  I  believe  that  the  most  you  could 
hope  to  do,  would  be  to  learn  enough  of  the  principles 
and  resources  of  music  to  enable  you  to  understand  and 
enjoy  it  more  perfectly,  when  you  hear  it  from  others ; — 
no  worthless  acquisition,  to  be  sure,  but  you  can  accom- 
plish the  same  tiling,  in  an  easier  way.  Since  Ruth  is  will- 
ing, you  can  make  it  a  rule  to  be  present  at  her  lessons, 
and  listen  to  the  instructions  she  receives.  You  will  thus 
learn  a  good  deal  of  the  science  of  music ;  you  will  see  the 
objects  she  is  working  to  attain ;  you  will  understand  the 
nature  and  the  amount  of  the  difficulties  she  has  to  over- 
come, and  the  value  of  the  successes  she  achieves ;  and 
whenever  her  time  of  triumph  comes,  you  will  rejoice  in  it 
as  if  it  were  your  own.  Thus,  she  will  get  the  help  and 
comfort  of  an  intelligent,  adequate  sympathy,  born  of 
knowledge ;  and  you  will  get  the  benefit  of  her  labor, 
without  the  time  and  fatigue.  A  theoretical  knowledge 
of  music  will  be  an  advantage  to  you,  if  you  are  " — (a  po- 
etess, I  was  about  to  say,  but  I  reconsidered  the  matter, 
and  substituted)  "if  ever  you  are  thrown  into  musical 
society." 

Alice  gave  me  one  of  her  quick,  penetrating  glances : 
she  comprehended,  instinctively,  that  there  was  something 
more  in  my  thought  than  appeared  in  my  words.  Ruth 
looked  dissatisfied. 

"  You  don't  know  how  much  I  wanted  Alice  for  a  fel- 
low-student," she  said,  dolefully. 

"  Take  heart,"  I  rejoined,  smiling,  "  she  may  fill  that 
position  yet.  Alice,  ha\e  you  any  talent  for  languages  ?  " 


206  SHILOH. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  she,  "  I  never  tried." 

"  I  was  intending  to  request  Ruth  to  take  up  the  study 
of  Italian,  also,"  observed  I,  "  and  to  ask  you  to  join  her 
in  it.  It  is,  eminently,  the  language  of  music ; — the  day 
will  come  when  she  will  find  it  necessary,  or  expedient,  for 
her  to  sing  in  it,  and  I  wish  to  save  her  from  the  inconve- 
nience and  the  wearisomeness — not  to  say,  the  absurdity — 
of  using  words  without  meaning  to  her.  It  is,  also,  well 
worth  learning  for  its  literature.  Certain  master-pieces  of 
epic  and  lyric  poetry  can  only  be  studied  satisfactorily  by 
its  aid ; — for  though  history,  philosophy,  and  morality, 
may  be  translated  without  serious  detriment,  that  chill  pro- 
cess is  fatal  to  the  ethereal  essence  and  subtle  grace  of 
poetry.  Who  would  know  Dante  and  Tasso  and  Petrarch, 
face  to  face,  and  heart-throb  to  heart-throb,  therefore,  must 
know  them  through  the  clear,  soft  medium  of  the  lan- 
guage they  loved ; — vainly  we  try  to  pour  their  thought 
into  any  other  mould  ! 

"  Under  other  circumstances,  I  might  prefer  to  have 
you  commence  this  branch  of  study  with  a  different  lan- 
guage ;  but  you  and  Ruth  wish  to  work  together,  and 
there  is  often  profit,  as  well  as  pleasure,  in  such  compan- 
ionship. If  you  like  the  study,  and  develop  a  talent  for 
it,  we  Avill  try  something  else,  by  and  by." 

Alice's  eyes  had  grown  very  bright  through  this  long 
speech.  She  now  said, 

"  Thank  you.     I  shall  like  it  so  much  !  " 

Ruth  made  a  comical  little  grimace.  "You  do  well," 
said  she,  "  to  couple  us  together,  in  this  business.  I  am 
not  a  bookworm  by  nature,  as  Alice  is,  and  the  sight  of  her 
quickness  and  studiousness  will  shame  me  into  doing  my 
utmost.  There  is  no  doubt  that  she  will  learn  fast  enough  ; 
Alice  can  turn  her  hand  to  anything." 

"  Finally,"  said  I,  "  I  .have  ventured  to  cut  out  a  little 
work — perhaps  play  would  be  the  fitter  phrase, — for  us  all. 
I  propose  that  we  shall  spend  certain  hours  of  each  week 


SHILOH.  207 

together,  in  reading  aloud.  We  will  take  turns  at  the  read- 
ing, and  try  to  make  sure  that  none  of  the  depth  or  the 
sweetness  of  our  author  escapes  us,  by  comparing  impres- 
sions as  we  go  along.  Do  you  accede  to  the  proposal  ?  " 

"  I  accede  to  anything  and  everything,"  replied  Ruth, 
good  humoredly.  And  she  added,  in  a  half-arch,  half-cares- 
sing way,  "  What  is  the  use  of  objecting  ?  You  would  be 
sure  to  coax  or  reason  me  into  it,  after  all.  You  have  ways 
there  is  no  resisting,  Miss  Frost." 

Further  talk  was  precluded  by  the  abrupt  entrance  of 
Mrs.  Prescott.  Care  sat  upon  her  brow,  as  usual ;  and  she 
made  no  delay  in  discharging  herself  of  her  mission. 
There  is  this  excellent  quality  (among  others)  in  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott ;  her  straightforwardness  is  unquestionable.  One  feels 
confident,  upon  very  short  acquaintance,  that  there  are  no 
byways  in  her  character.  She  never  holds  forth  the  gloved 
hand  of  policy ;  she  knows  nothing  of  the  crooked  walks 
of  diplomacy.  What  she  has  to  do,  she  does  openly  ;  what 
she  has  to  say,  she  says  plainly.  Her  faults  lie  as  close  to 
the  surface  as  her  virtues,  her  motives  are  as  patent  as  her 
acts.  In  her  own  characteristic  phrase,  she  "  always  likes 
to  speak  her  mind." 

"  I  suppose  your  lesson  is  over,  I  haven't  heard  the  piano 
going  lately,"  she  said,  in  her  rapid,  crisp  way,  implying  as 
much  'of  an  apology  as  she  often  condescends  to  make.  "  I  just 
came  in  to  tell  you  that  some  of  us  ladies  are  going  down 
to  set  Mr.  Taylor's  things  to  rights  a  little,  this  afternoon. 
They  were  put  into  the  house  this  morning,  and  there  they 
lie  in  heaps.  And  to-morrow  is  Saturday,  and  Mrs.  Taylor 
can't  get  here  till  noon, — so  she  won't  have  much  time  to 
get  in  living  order  for  Sunday.  I  guess  she'll  like  to  havo 
things  straightened  round  some,  if  it  ain't  done  just  exactly 
as  she'd  do  it  herself.  And  I'd  like  to  have  you  go  along, 
if  youJre  willing ; — of  course,  we  shouldn't  expect  you 
to  do  any  hard  work,  but  we  would  like  your  advice 
about  arranging  things.  Mrs.  Taylor  mightn't  like  our 


208  SHILOH. 

ways;  she's  used  to  city  style,  I  guess.  Mr.  Taylor  is 
there,  to  tell  us  which  furniture  goes  in  the  parlor,  and 
which  in  the  keeping-room,  and  what  they  use  in  their  own 
room.  That  is  about  all  he  is  good  for,  I  guess,  though  he 
did  come  on  to  '  make  a  beginning,'  as  he  says.  It's  my 
opinion  that  it  would  be  all  beginning,  and  no  end !  You 
ought  to  have  seen  him  this  morning,  sitting  on  a  box  and 
looking  at  the  muss.  He  had  unpacked  three  boxes,  and 
piled  the  things  all  in  a  heap,  and  was  just  taking  breath 
before  he  begun  on  another !  It's  a  mercy  I  happened  in, 
or  he'd  have  had  everything  out,  and  stirred  up  on  the 
floor,  in  a  mess.  I  told  him  he  had  better  wait  until  this 
afternoon,  and  have  some  help.  He  looked  as  much 
relieved  as  if  I  had  brought  him  a  house  all  in  apple-pie 
order,  with  a  dinner  smoking  on  the  table.  So  I  brought 
him  home  with  me,  and  he's  out  in  the  meadow,  talking  to 
father.  Will  you  go  with  us,  Miss  Frost  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  there  is  the  smallest  possibility  of  my 
being  of  service.  I  really  was  not  aware,  however,  that 
there  were  two  ways  of  arranging  furniture,  one  for  the 
city,  and  another  for  the  country ;  I  thought  individual 
taste  ruled  in  that  mattei',  and  that  the  greatest  attainable 
amount  of  comfort  and  beauty  was  the  universal  aim." 

"  Umph !  that  shows  you  haven't  used  your  eyes. 
Whenever  I  go  into  a  city  house,  which  I  don't  do 
often," — with  an  intonation,  slightly  flavored  with  con- 
tempt,— "  it  always  looks  to  me  as  if  they'd  put  all  their 
best  things  right  where  they'd  get  used  up  the  quickest, — - 
chairs  and  tables  and  sofas  where  you  couldn't  stir  without 
hitting  against  their  corners ;  and  china,  and  all  sorts  of 
knick-knacks,  where  you  couldn't  miss  of  knocking  them 
off.  Xo\v,  that  isn't  our  way  up  here;  at  least,  it  isn't  my 
way.  What's  worth  saving,  I  like  to  save.  Why,  I've  got 
the  mahogany  table,  that  father  gave  me  when  I  was  first 
married  and  went  to  housekeeping,  packed  away  up  garret 
now, — -just  as  good  as  new,  though  it's  been  moved  twice ; 
there  isn't  a  pin-scratch  on  it  anywheres." 


SHILOH.  209 

I  did  not  in  the  least  doubt  it.  To  any  one  who  had 
had  an  opportunity  of  Mdtnessing  Mrs.  Prescott's  daily 
battle  with  dust,  dirt,  and  decay,  in  their  innumerable 
forms;  and  her  many  and  marvellous  solutions  of  the  ever- 
returning  problem  how  to  make  the  few  things  she  could 
bring  herself  to  use,  serve  as  substitutes  for  the  multitude 
that  it  would  have  broken  her  heart  to  summon  forth  from 
their  life-long  inaction  ;  it  was  not  difficult  to  believe  in  any 
marvel  of  preservation  that  had  been  achieved  under  her 
own  strict  domestic  rule.  My  faith  was  strong  that,  if  she 
could  only  be  spared  to  cherish  it,  that  beloved  mahogany 
table  would  survive  the  crumbling  of  empires,  and  resist 
the  tooth  of  Time ;  and,  outliving  the  earth  itself,  would 
be  no  very  preposterous  candidate  for  admission  into  that 
extremely  material'  heaven,  which  certain  dust-clogged 
imaginations  are  so  fond  of  presenting  to  our  view. . 

I  left  the  subject  of  the  table  untouched,  however,  and 
confined  myself  to  the  business  in  hand. 

"I  hope  you  intend  to  be  impartial  in  your  invitation, 
Mrs.  Prescott.  Cannot  these  two  friends  of  mine  find  an 
opening  for  their  respective  talents,  somewhere  in  the  after- 
noon's work?" 

Mrs.  Prescott"  stared  in  undisguised  amazement. 

"  I  mean  to  have  Alice  go,"  she  said,  with  a  mixture  of 
austerity  and  amusement ;  "  I'm  going  to  paper  the  keep- 
ing room  down  there,  and  she's  got  to  help  me.  As  for 
Ruth,  I  should  like  to  have  her  go,  of  course ;  there's  not 
the  least  danger  of  our  having  too  much  help ;  many  hands 
make  light  work.  But  if  you  can  get  her  to  go,  you'll  do 
more  than  I  think  you  will — that's  all  I've  got  to  say  about 
it." 

And  Mrs.  Prescott  walked  off,  not  to  waste  time  on  a 
subject  of  so  little  importance. 

Ruth  looked  at  me  imploringly.  "  You  don't  mean  it, 
Miss  Frost !  you  know  I  can't  go  !  " 

I  hesitated.     Immediately,  Alice  rose  and  went  quietly 


210  SHILOH. 

out.  I  could  not  but  marvel  at  the  fineness  of  her  instincts. 
Doubtless,  she  understood,  as  well  as  if  I  had  told  her  so, 
that  her  presence  was,  at  that  moment,  a  constraint  upon  me. 
Struggle  against  it  as  I  may,  my  affections,  my  sympathy, 
and  my  emotions,  will  always  refuse  to  utter  themselves 
freely  in  the  presence  of  a  third  person, — a  looker-on, — no 
matter  how  congenial  to  me  may  be  that  person's  self,  nor 
how  thoroughly  in  sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  the  moment. 

Then  I  put  my  arms  round  my  excited  companion. 
"  Ruth,  it  is  the  first  favor  I  have  asked  of  you.  And  I 
have  set  jny  heart  upon  it." 

She  burst  into  tears.  "  Of  course,  I  'cannot  i-efuse,  if 
you  insist, — when  you  have  done  so  much  for  me.  But  you 
don't  know  what  a  trial  it  will  be  to  me !  I  can't  bear  all 
those  eyes ! " 

If  it  had  really  been  a  favor  for  myself,  in  any  narrow 
sense,  I  could  not  have  insisted.  But  it  was  for  Ruth's 
own  sake  that  I  steeled  myself. 

"  You  need  not  look  at  any  eyes  but  mine,  and  they 
intend  to  keep  very  tender  watch  over  you.  Xot  because 
of  anything  I  have  done  for  you, — that  is  nothing, — but  to 
show  me  that  you  love  me,  Ruth  !  " 

And  so,  finally,  she  promised. 


XX. 

THE    GAVYXNE    PLACE. 

rN  nearly  every  New  England  village,  I  find, 
there  is  some  one  dwelling  that  enjoys  a  sinister 
distinction  over  its  .neighbors.  Either,  it  had  its 
foundation  in  some  ugly .  and  ominous  circum- 
stance ;  or  it  is  stained  through  and  through 
with  an  ever-darkening  story  of  horror ;  or  a  dim 
shadow  of  mystery  lurks  in  its  corners ;  or  it  is 
pervaded  by  the  faint,  misty,  elusive  scent  of 
ghostly  revelries.  Now  and  then,  there  appears  to  have 
been  a  sufficient  germ  for  this  luxuriant,  legendary  foliage, 
in  some  actual  fact.  Oftener  still,  it  has  grown  out  of  the 
gray  old  sti-ucture  by  a  process  analogous  to  that  which 
has  covered  its  roof  with  moss  and  its  walls  with  mould ; 
without  any  more  fertile  soil  wherein  to  have  taken  root, 
than  the  bare  fact  that  its  builder  came  of  an  unknown 
stock,  or  that  it  has,  at  some  period  of  its  history,  stood  for 
a  long  time  untenarited.  And  an  empty  house,  in  a  quiet 
New  England  town,  is  the  lawful  playground  of  the  im- 
agination, the  readiest  material  for  all  the  latent  supersti- 
tion of  the  place  to  work  upon.  The  winds  take  up  their 
abode  in  it,  and  fill  it  with  solemn  whispers  capable  of  mani- 
fold interpretation, — birds  and  bats  people  it  with  vague, 
flitting  forms, — its  chill,  damp,  vault-like  atmosphere  is 
thrillingly  suggestive  of  ghostly  occupants, — dry-rot  gets 
into  its  timbers  and  gnaws  away  at  their  heart  like  the 


212  SHILOH. 

tooth  of  an  uneasy  conscience, — its  silence  is  full  of  inexplic- 
able sound, — its  darkness  flashes  with  mysterious  light, — 
its  very  exterior  is  believed  to  have  some  indefinable  pecu- 
liarity. Strange  whispers — originating  no  one  knoAvs  where, 
and  swelling  no  one  knows  how — are  afloat  concerning  it ; 
and  people  who  do  not  believe  them  in  their  hearts,  are 
ready  enough  to  give  them  currency  with  their  lips.  By 
and  by,  children  are  afraid  to  pass  it  after  nightfall ;  and 
their  elders  glance  at  it  half-curiously,  half-nervously, 
reasoning  vaguely  within  themselves  that,  where  there  is 
so  much  of  inference,  there  ought,  for  consistency's  sake,  to 
be  some  small  residuum  of  fact.  The  eerie  character  of  the 
house  is  established.  It  will  take  years  of  commonplace 
occupancy  to  obliterate  its  claim  to  a  dismal  distinction ; 
and  a  long  course  of  the  plodding  prose  of  daily  life  to  dis- 
pel the  half-poetic  charm  that  environs  it. 

Mrs.  Prescott's  house  is  of  this  class.  Its  one  undenia- 
ble peculiarity  is,  that  it  has  never  had  either  a  birth  or  a 
death  under  its  roof; — a  curious  enough  fact,  in  a  dwelling 
that  is  nearly  a  century  old ;  but  explicable  by  the  shifting 
character  of  its  occupancy.  It  has  missed,  therefore,  some- 
what of  that  gentle  consecration  of  love  and  grief,  which 
makes  the  walls  of  a  genuine  home  half  sacred  in  their 
aspect  and  influence, — and  a  dim  recognition  thereof  is, 
doubtless,  latent  in  the  feeling  with  which  it  is  regarded. 

If  you  ask,  generally,  of  its  history,  you  will  be  told  that 
it  Avas  built,  and  first  occupied,  by  a  strange,  silent  family  •, 
that  came  nobody  knew  whence,  lived  nobody  knew  ho\v, 
and  went  nobody  knew  whither.  To  this  will  be  appended 
the  vaguest  tale — with  hardly  enough  of  definite  outline  to 
be  anywise  transferable  to  paper — of  three  fair  daughters, 
who  were  visited  one  by  one,  with  some  inscrutable  and 
malignant  fate ;  and  waxed  unutterably  wan  and  spirit-like 
under  its  touch ;  and  slowly  faded  out  of  existence  (but  not 
in  the  house,  its  mysterious  immunity  from  death  must 
needs  have  prevented  that) ;  and  whose  spirits  had  been 


SHILOH.  213 

• 

seen  flitting  through  the  dense  shadow  of  the  orchard,  011 
moonlight  nights.  If  you  push  your  inquiries  more  par- 
ticularly, however,  you  will  succeed  in  extracting  as  much 
information  about  this  unknown  family  as  could  reasonably 
be  expected  to  survive  it ;  in  a  community  where  it  had  not 
sojourned  long  enough  to  establish,  by  means  of  inter-mar- 
riage, birth,  death,  and  familiar  intercourse,  any  abiding 
claim  upon  its  sympathies.  The  real  truth  seeming  to  be, 
that  the  Gwynnes  (for  such  was  their  name)  had  once 
known  better  days ;  had  here  found  a  brief  foothold  upon  ' 
the  slippery  bank  of  Oblivion ;  and,  sliding  thence,  had 
made  that  final  plunge  beneath  its  dark  waters,  beyond 
which  none  but  attached  friends  and  hound-scented  lawyers 
would  care  to  follow  them.  After  them,  came  a  number  of 
tenancies,  of  the  briefest  individual  duration ;  and  then,  a 
long  period  of  emptiness  and  neglect,  during  which  rumors 
and  conjectures  thickened  around  the  deserted  dwelling, 
not  less  rapidly  than  the  dust  gathered  on  its  floors,  and 
the  mosses  and  lichens  on  its  roof. 

Finally,  Mr.  Prescott,  his  health  having  failed  him  in  a 
neighboring  town,  pitched  upon  it  as  a  convenient  residence 
for  the  remainder  of  his  own  fast  lapsing  life;  and  one, 
moreover,  where  his  wife,  in  the  event  of  her  being  left  a 
widow,  would  be  within  easy  reach  of  the  kindly  offices 
and  sympathies  of  her  paternal  home.  If  the  shrewd  New 
Englander  had  any  unacknowledged  idea  of  cheating  death 
of  his  lawful  prey,  in  his  own  case,  by  removing  to  a  house 
that  was  reported  to  enjoy  an  immunity  from  his  dread 
visitations,  the  event  proved,  to  the "  great  edification  of 
curious  lookers-on,  how  equally  inevitable  were  the  stroke 
of  doom,  and  the  mysterious  spell  that  hedged  round  his 
dwelling.  Mr.  Prescott  died,  suddenly,  at  a  wayside  inn, 
while  on  a  short  journey ;  and,  in  curious  confirmation  of 
the  received  theory  that  death  was,  in  no  shape,  to  enter 
that  charmed  precinct,  he  was  never  again  permitted  to 
cross  the  threshold  of  his  home.  For,  on  the  arrival  of 


214  SHILOII. 

his  remains,  it  was  found  that  their  natural  course  of  decay 
had  been  so  hastened  by  the  extreme  heat  of  the  weather, 
as  to  make  it  inexpedient  to  admit  them  within  the  dwel- 
ling. They  rested,  therefore,  in  the  broad,  cool  shadow  of 
the  maples  in  the  dooryard ;  while  knots  of  friends  gathered 
near,  and  prayers  were  said,  and  hymns  sung,  and  all  the 
sombre  routine  and  paraphernalia  of  woe  went  on  around 
them  according  to  their  dismal  wont ;  and  then,  they  went 
forth  to  seek  admittance  into  that  narrow,  but  hospitable 
house,  which  opens  its  doors  to  all  comers  alike,  and  refuses 
not  its  kindly  shelter  to  any  amount  nor  degree  of  material 
or  moral  pollution. 

In  due  course  of  time,  the  increasing  years  and  cor- 
responding infirmities  of  Mrs.  Divine,  and  the  troubles  that 
befell  Mrs.  Prescott  in  managing  her  farm,  brought  about 
the  removal  of  the  latter  to  the  old  homestead,  and  the  con- 
solidation of  the  two  households.  It  was  then  duly  whis- 
pered around  that  either  Alice  or  her  mother  had  been 
selected  for  the  Destroyer's  next  stroke,  and  that  it  had 
become  inevitably  necessary  for  the  unconscious  victim  to 
seek  out  an  available  spot  wherein  to  die, — the  Gwynne 
Place,  as  everybody  knew,  being  absolutely  ineligible  to 
such  an  undertaking  ; — a  prediction  which,  I  scarcely  need 
say,  still  awaits  fulfilment.  Its  terrors  are  now,  however, 
transferred  to  "William  Dunn, — whose  future  career  will  be 
honored  with  an  amount  of  interest,  on  this  account,  that 
would  scarcely  have  been  accorded  to  it,  upon  its  own 
merits.  If  any  casualty  happens  to  himself;  or  if  measles, 
scarlet  fever,  or  any  of  the  ills  which  childhood  is  heir  to, 
makes  a  break  in  the  line  of  his  progeny,  during  the  next 
few  years ; — that  will  be  accounted  the  occult  cause  for  the 
expulsion,  of  which  Mrs.  Prescott,  in  her  zeal  to  provide 
her  clergyman  with  a  suitable  abode,  is  only  the  blind, 
irresponsible  agent. 

All  this — or  as  much  of  it  as  could  be  told  without  jar- 
ring upon  Mrs.  Prescott's  sensibilities — we  made  known  to 


SHILOII.  215 

Mr.  Taylor,  while  our  little  party  of  five  traversed  the 
"  short  cut  across  lots "  between  the  Divine  homestead 
and  the  Gwynne  Place.  Mr.  Taylor  had  stayed  to  dinner, 
which  accounts  for  his  presence  with  us;  and  I  had 
made  sure  of  Ruth  by  going  after  her.  At  first,  she  had 
been  silent  and  ill-at-ease ;  sending  shy,  surreptitious 
glances  around  her,  in  the  evident  expectation  and  dread 
of  surprising  a  look  of  pity,  of  contempt,  or  of  dislike,  up- 
on some  unguarded  face ;  but,  of  course,  finding  none,  and 
constantly  growing  brighter  and  more  courageous  thereby. 
And  Alice,  as  might  be  expected,  had  been  quick  to  under- 
stand and  to  second  my  efforts  to  make  her  feel  that  we 
were  glad  to  have  her  with  us ;  without  treating  it  as  if  it 
were  an  unusual  occurrence,  calling  for  either  question  or 
comment.  So  she  had  gradually  drifted  to  her  natural 
place  among  us  ;  and  her  spirits,  having  flung  aside  their 
dreary,  habitual  weight,  were  fast  rising  to  the  sunny  level 
of  the  scene  and  the  time, — into  harmony  with  the  shining 
verdure,  the  singing  brook,  the  merry  chirp  of  insects,  the 
rich  warm  glow  of  the  early-afternoon  sun. 

For  her  sake  I  made  an  unwonted  effort  to  be  gay.  I 
seized  eagerly,  therefore,  upon  every  chance  for  merriment 
afforded  by  the  peculiarities  of  the  house  which  Mr.  Taylor 
was  so  soon  to  occupy.  I  ran  rapidly  over  a  list  of  divers 
charms  and  counter-charms  in  repute  among  different  na- 
tions, from  the  horse-shoe  of  the  Saxon  to  the  monda  of 
the  African  ;  discussed,  in  a  serio-comic  manner,  their  effi- 
cacy and  adaptation  to  the  case  in  hand ;  and  deplored  the 
impossibility  of  procuring  a  fetich  of  gorilla's  brain,  or  the 
tail  of  a  leopard,  to  imbue  Mr.  Taylor's  heart  with  courage 
proportioned  to  his  probable  or  possible  needs !  I  rattled 
on  lightly  enough,  no  doubt,  considering  the  many  points 
where  the  subject  touched  unavoidably  upon  serious 
things ;  but  my  one  object  was  to  bring  out  the  fitful 
smiles  upon  Ruth's  face ;  and  whenever  her  gleeful,  bird- 
like  laugh  rang  out  over  the  meadow  (it  is  astonishing  how 


216  SHILOH. 

joyous  her  laugh  is,  when  her  voice  seems  to  be  possessed 
with  the  very  spirit  of  melancholy!),  I  congratulated  my- 
self upon  so  much  gained,  and  cast  about  for  some  fresh 
absurdity  to  utter.  In  due  time  I  found  my  reward. 
Ruth  began  to  answer,  as  well  as  to  listen  and  laugh  ; 
and  her  gayety,  when  it  came,  was  far  more  genuine  and 
spontaneous  than  mine. 

Mr.  Taylor  listened  to  us,  for  awhile,  with  a  very 
amused  face.  Then  it  grew  so  burdened  with  thought 
that  Mrs.  Prescott,  concluding  that  he  stood  in  need  of  en- 
couragement, came  to  the  rescue. 

"  It's  all  nonsense,"  she  began,  in  her  quick,  decided 
way.  "  I  can  assure  you,  Mr.  Taylor,  that  the  house  is  as 
good  a  house,  and  as  quiet  a  house,  as  there  is  in  Shiloh. 
I  lived  there  four  years,  and  I  never  heard  a  sound  that  I 
couldn't  find  a  good  reason  for ;  nor  saw  anything  more 
ghostlike  in  the  orchard  than  a  white  cow,  or  calf,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort.  And  as  for  the  '  spell '  that  Miss  Frost 
makes  so  much  of,  I  don't  believe  a  bit  more  in  that !  If 
you  live  there  long  enough,  you'll  die  there,  I  guess.  I 
only  wish  you  might,  you  and  all  your  family  ! " 

The  letter  of  this  wish,  in  spite  of  its  unmistakable 
friendliness  of  spirit,  provoked  so  general  a  smile,  that  Mrs. 
Prescott  felt  herself  called  upon  to  add  an  explanatory  re- 
mark or  two, — which,  however,  did  not  greatly  mend  the 
matter. 

"  You  all  know  what  I  mean,  well  enough.  St.  Jude's 
hasn't  had  a  rector  for  over  a  year  or  two,  at  a  time,  since 
'twas  built ;  and  I'd  like  to  have  one  stay  long  enough  to 
die  here  once,  that's  all." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Taylor,  bowing  half-courteously, 
half-humorously.  "  I  only  hope  Shiloh  and  I  may  suit  each 
other  well  enough  to  make  such  a  length  of  sojourn  desir- 
able. But  I  ought  to  assure  you,  Mrs.  Prescott,  that  the 
evil  reputation  of  the  premises  has  no  terrors  for  me.  And 
as  for  the  '  spell,'  Miss  Frost,  I  have  no  desire  to  break 


SHILOH.  217 

it ; — however,  that  must  be  as  the  Lord  wills.  But  I  must 
confess  that  my  thoughts  wandered  a  little  during  your 
careful  resume  of  available  counter-charms ;  and  I  really 
forget  which  or  how  many  you  recommended  for  my  adop- 
tion. I  was  thinking  how  universal  is  this  belief  in  ghosts, 
spells,  signs,  etc.  Even  the  worst  sceptics  in  religious  mat- 
ters often  partake  of  it.  And  I  was  puzzling  myself  with 
the  question,  whence  it  springs.  In  most  cases,  I  imagine 
it  is  the  result  of  an  unconscious  craving  after  some  power 
behind  nature,  and  superior  to  her  inalterable  laws,  which 
may  be  disposed  to  take  an  occasional  interest  in  human 
affairs.  There  are  times  when  natural  laws  seem  so  hard, 
so  chill,  so  unsympathizing, — as  all  law  must,  without  love 
behind  it, — we  are  glad  to  escape  from  their  hands  into  any 
others  which  are  capable  of  voluntary  action.  In  short,  I 
suppose  it  is  the  ig«orant,  unrenewed  soul's  spontaneous 
reaching  out  after  God.  If  men  only  knew  it  to  be  such, 
how  much  better  it  would  be  for  them  ! " 

"  And  I  have  been  thinking,"  replied  I,  "  that  these 
same  superstitions  have  their  value  as  an  involuntary  con- 
cession to  the  spiritual  part  of  man.  Men  do  under- 
stand— and  all  the  materialistic  philosophy  that  was  ever 
taught,  cannot  persuade  them  to  the  contrary — that  there 
is  both  within  and  without  them,  somewhat, — a  power,  an 
essence,  or  an  influence, — which,  while  it  works  harmoni- 
ously enough  with  and  through  the  laws  of  matter,  is  not 
obedient  to  them,  but  immeasurably  above  and  beyond 
them.  Superstitions  do  not  come  of  the  earthly,  sordid 
part  of  man ;  they  have  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  the 
faculties  that  are  employed  in  adding  barn  to  barn,  and 
field  to  field ;  they  belong,  however  mistaken  or  degraded, 
to  his  spiritual  nature,  and  are  born  of  his  spiritual  needs  ; 
and  therefore  I  am  inclined  to  concede  them  some  slight 
claim  to  respectful  consideration." 

"  And  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Prescott,  sharply,  "  that  they 
are  a  great  deal  too  foolish  to  waste  so  many  words  about. 
10 


218  sniLoii. 

But  here  we  are ;  and  now  work,  and  not  talk,  is  to  be  the 
order  of  the  day.  At  "least  for  those  who  can't  do  both  at 
once.  And  I  always  find  that  when  my  tongue  is  still,  my 
hands  move  the  fastest." 

The  Gwynne  Place  had  certainly  nothing  in  its  exte- 
rior to  warrant  its  occupying  so  much  space  in  our  talk, 
or  in  this  letter.  It  was  simply  a  gray,  reverend  farm- 
house ;  with  a  long '  row  of  maples  in  front,  and  a  large, 
dense  orchard  in  the  rear.  Time  and  weather  had  left  legi- 
ble enough  traces  upon  it,  and  it  had  the  forlorn  look  of 
emptiness  about  it ;  but  otherwise,  it  was  a  house  as  little 
suggestive  of  ghostly  tenants  as  could  well  be  conceived  of. 

We  found  its  interior  in  a  perplexing  state  of  topsy- 
turvity ;  but  Mrs.  Prescott  set  to  work,  with  her  usual 
energy  and  directness  of  purpose,  and  soon  cleai'ed  a  space 
for  action.  Then  she  produced,  from  some  quarter,  a  kettle 
of  paste,  several  rolls  of  wall-paper,  scissors,  and  brush ;  and 
set  about  measuring,  cutting,  trimming,  pasting,  and  hang- 
ing, as  if  she  had  been  born  to  the  business. 

Ruth,  too,  threw  herself  into  the  work  with  a  cheerful 
alacrity  and  heartiness  that  it  was  good  to  see.  Having 
first  helped  Mr.  Taylor  to  clear  the  parlor,  she  found  the 
carpet  thereto  appropriated,  satisfied  herself  that  it  required 
no  other  fitting  than  a  little  turning  in  on  one  side,  rum- 
maged about  for  a  hammer  and  tacks,  and  went  down 
upon  her  knees  and  commenced  operations  at  once.  The 
quick,  sharp  sound  of  her  hammer  echoed  through  the 
house ;  and  it  was  followed  by  a  cheery  little  carol  from 
her  lips,  that  seemed  to  bubble  up  from  the  very  well- 
spring  of  joyfulness.  I  could  not  help  stopping  to  watch 
her  a  moment,  she  looked  so  bright  and  happy ;  and  she 
did  her  work  so  easily  and  so  well,  with  a  simple,  uncon- 
scious grace  that  gave  it  the  easy  charm  of  play. 

"  Ghosts  would  not  endure  the  spectacle  for  a  moment,". 
I  was  saying  to  myself,  when  I  was  startled  by  a  deep, 
unexpected  voice  behind  me ; — 

"  Well !  if  I  ain't  dumbpounded  ! " 


XXI. 

SETTING   TO    EIGHTS,  WITHOUT   AND  WITHIN. 

( COKING  round,  I  saw  Aunt  Vin's  calico  sun- 
bonnet  jerking  spasmodically  in  the  doorway ; 
while  the  wearer  thereof  was  taking  in  the 
whole  scene,  with  an  amazed  glance. 

"  Is   that   Ruth  Winnot  ? "    she  proceeded, 
after  a  moment,  "  or  is  it  a  pectoral  allusion  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  I,  holding  out  my 
hand.     "  Speak  for  yourself,  Ruth,  and  tell  Miss 
Rust  whether  you  are  a  spectral  illusion,  or  not." 

"  My  very  own  self,  Aunt  Vin  !  "  declared  Ruth,  merrily, 
holding  her  hammer  suspended  over  a  nail,  while  she  spoke, 
and  then  bringing  it  down  sharply,  by  way  of  point  to  her 
sentence.  "  If  you  doubt  it,  pinch  me,  and  see  if  I  don't 
cry  out  like  real  flesh  and  blood  !  " 

"  That  would  be  concussive  evidence,"  returned  Aunt 
Vin,  drily.  "  But,  bless  me !  Miss  Frost !  what  sort  of 
hokers-pokers  have  you  been  a-trying  on  the  girl?  I 
shouldn't  have  known  her,  if  I'd  have  met  her  anywhere's 
out  of  Shiloh.  She  used  to  look  '  like  Patience  on  emolu- 
ment, sp'iling  with  grief;'  now,  she's  a  good  deal  more 
like  a  '  butterfly,  born  in  a  bowery.'  She'll  be  the  sinecure 
of  all  eyes,  this  afternoon,  I  guess." 

Ruth's  face  fell.     That  was  exactly  what  she  dreaded 

most.     I  hastened  to  give  a  different  color  to  her  thoughts. 

"Do  not  be   turning   Ruth's  head  with  your  compli- 


220  SHILOH. 

merits,  Miss  Rust !  If  she  is  pretty  enough  to  attract 
everybody's  gaze,  it  is  not  necessary  to  tell  her  of  it ;  I 
cannot  afford  to  have  her  spoiled  with  vanity,  yet." 

Aunt  Vin  stared  hard  for  a  moment ;  then,  her  grim 
features  slowly  relaxed  into  a  smile,  and  her  head  jerked  a 
kind  of  austere  admiration. 

"  You  ought  to  have  been  a  dippermat  or  a  fileofficer ! 
You're  deep  enough  to  beat  Talleyrant  and  Michael  Velli 
at  their  own  game  !  " 

Then  she  turned  to  Ruth.  "  Well,  anyhow,  I'm  just  as 
glad  to  eee  you  here,  as  if  I  had  sore  eyes,  and  you  was 
some  sort  of  patent  delirium.  And  the  sight  of  your 
industry  is  real  respiring !  It  reminds  me  that  it's  high 
time  I  was  set  about  something,  myself.  I'm  always 
restful  and  uneasy  when  I  ain't  to  work  at  something. 
Who  is  the  queen-bee  pro  temporal  of  this  hive,  Miss 
Frost  ?  " 

I  could  not  answer.  Aunt  Vin's  opening  sentences  had 
sent  me  in  haste  to  the  window,  to  laugh  my  irrepressible 
laugh  unseen.  Ruth  saw  my  condition,  and  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"  I  can't  say  who  the  queen-bee  is,  Aunt  Vin;  but  you 
will  find  Mr.  Taylor  and  Mrs.  Prescott  in  the  other  room, 
if  you  want  directions.  Or  you  can  set  yourself  to  work, 
as  I.did.  One  can't  go  much  amiss,  in  this  house ;  there  is 
work  enough  for  all  that  come,  and  more  too,  I  fancy." 

"  Oh,  you'll  have  an  enforcement  soon,"  replied  Aunt  Vin, 
encouragingly.  "  Essie  Volger's  on-a-root  now,  I  guess  ;  I 
saw  her  horse  at  the  gate,  as  I  came  along.  And  there's 
two  or  three — unmentionables,  we'll  ct.ll  'em, — who're  sure 
to  come ;  just  to  see  that  your  carpet  goes  down  concisely 
straight,  Ruth ;  and  to  take  a  look  at  Mr.  Taylor's  goods 
and  chatters,  and  make  sure  that  he  hasn't  got  any  more 
carpets  and  curtains  and  pots  and  kettles,  and  other  perso- 
nal defects,  than  the  law  allows,"  she  added,  dryly,  as  her 
vibratory  sun-bonnet  disappeared  from  the  doorway. 


SHILOII.  221 

Ruth  and  I  looked  at  each  other,  and  gave  way  to  the 
irresistible  contagion  of  repressed  mirth.  She  was  the  first 
to  recover  herself. 

"  Aunt  Vin  is  a  great  deal  too  good  to  be  laughed  at," 
she  observed,  wiping  her  eyes ;  "  my  conscience  rebukes 
me  every  time  I  do  it.  But  she  does  say  such  absurd 
things  !  what  is  one  to  do  ?  " 

"  Only  to  take  care  that  she  does  not  see  the  laugh,  and 
feel  hurt  by  it.  I  respect  Aunt  Yin's  character  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart,  Ruth, — her  active  kindness,  her  ready 
sympathy,  her  voluntary  assumption  of  tasks  which  others 
shun,  are  worthy  of  all  honor ; — but  her  vocabulary  is 
fairly  a  subject  for  mirth,  I  think ;  if  the  laugh  is  un- 
mingled  with  any  disrespect  toward  herself.  But  I  must 
not  linger  here  any  longer,  laughing  at  that,  nor  enjoying 
the  pretty  spectacle  of  your  bright  activity :  it  is  time  I 
followed  her  good  example,  and  found  something  to  do." 

"  Not  away  from  me ! "  exclaimed  Ruth,  in  affright. 
"  If  you  desert  me  now,  when  all  those  people  are  coming, 
I'll  never  put  faith  in  you  again." 

The  difficulty  was  settled  by  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Taylor,  with  a  pile  of  muslin  curtains  in  his  arms. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  bring  you  these,  Miss  Frost,"  said 
he,  surveying  them  dubiously,  "  but  such  are  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott's  orders.  To  be  sure,  they  are  all  the  parlor  curtains 
we  have,  or  are  like  to  have, — but  that  last  wash  seems  to 
have  established  their  claims  to  go  on  the  retired  list.  For- 
tunately, life  is  possible  without  parlor  curtains.  Relieve 
my  mind  by  saying  that  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
them." 

"  And  burden  my  conscience  ?  No,  no,  Mr.  Taylor,  you 
have  brought  me  a  job  after  my  own  heart,  and  I  cannot 
resign  it  so  easily.  I  have  a  genius  for  darning  and  patch- 
ing, as  you  will  allow  when  your  curtains  are  made  to  look 
'  maist  as  weel  as  new.'  " 

"  A  sure  sign  that  you  are  destined  for  a  poor  man's 


222  .  SHILOH. 

wife,"  said  a  cheery  voice  at  my  elbow.  "  Leave  the  cur- 
tains, Mr.  Taylor,  and  I  will  help  Miss  Frost  to  rejuvenate 
them ;  that  is,  if  she  will  accept  of  my  coadjutorship." 

"  Thank  you,  I  could  not  wish  for  a  better.  How  do 
you  do,  Miss  Volger  ?  " 

"  If  I  were  sure  you  would '  give  it  the  right  interpreta- 
tion, I  should  say  '  None  the  better  for  seeing  you ' — at  my 
house,  I  mean.  In  other  words,  much  the  worse  for  ndt 
seeing  you.  Is  that  poor,  little  call  of  mine  never  to  be 
returned  ?  I  shall  heap  coals  of  fire  on  your  head  by  mak- 
ing you  another." 

"  I  devoutly  wish  you  would  !  It  would  be  a  refreshing 
oasis  of  real  kindness  in  the  dreary  desert  of  visiting  eti- 
quette. But  I  am  coming  to  pay  my  debt — no,  to  see  you 
— very  soon.  Do  you  know  my  friend  here, — Miss 
Winnot  ?  " 

Ruth  looked  up  shyly  from  her  work,  and  flushed  crim- 
son ;  but  there  was  something  very  reassuring  in  the  frank 
cordiality  of  Miss  Essie's  smile,  and  the  easy  grace  with 
which  she  stooped  to  shake  hands.  The  cheery  glow  of 
the  smile  was  quickly  reflected  on  Ruth's  face ;  and  the 
flush  went  almost  as  fast  as  it  came. 

"  Yes,  I  know  Miss  Winnot — by  sight,"  said  Miss  Es- 
sie, "but  not  nearly  so  well  as  I  wish  I  did.  I  see  her,  at 
church,  perched  '  up  aloft,'  like  the  cherub  that  takes  care 
of  poor  Jack ;  and  singing  like  one,  too ; — and  I  had  a 
vague  impression  that,  when  she  got  through,  she  spread 
her  wings,  and  flew  up  into  the  seventh  heaven,  or  some 
place  equally  out  of  the  reach  of  ordinary  mortals.  And 
to  find  her  here — of  all  things  in  the  world ! — nailing  down 
carpets !  But  it  is  a  gratification  to  have  such  satisfactory 
evidence  that  she  is  at  home  in  the  sphere  of  humanity, 
and  does  not  live  above  the  toils  and  interests  of  common 
life.  And  I  consider  it  a  highly  providential  circumstance 
that  we  meet  here  to-day,  for  I  want  to  consult  her  about  a 
project  I  have  in  view." 


SHILOH,  223 

Ruth  dropped  her  hammer,  and  waited,  with  a  puzzled, 
yet  pleased,  expression  for  what  was  to  come  next.  Evi- 
dently, she  was  amazed  to  find  herself  drifting  thus  swiftly 
and  quietly  into  the  strong  current  of  active  life ;  from  any 
pleasant  participation  wherein  she  had  believed  herself  to 
be  distinctly  marked  out  by  the  baleful  shadow  of  deform- 
ity, and  from  which  she  had  held  so  persistently  aloof.  Yet 
no  sooner  did  she  appear,  than  her  place  among  the  work- 
ers and  the  interests  of  the  outside  world  opened  to  her,  as 
if  by  magic,  and  her  tenure  seemed  accounted  a  fixed  fact ! 
It  only  goes  to  show  how  universal  are  the  ramifications  of 
human  interests;  how  many  and  kindly  the  twining  ten- 
drils of  affection.  No  one  need  to  be  a  recluse,  except  by 
his  own  fault.  If  he  find  himself  constantly  overlooked  and 
ignored,  in  the  general  interchange  of  charities,  it  is  nearly 
certain  to  be  the  result  of  some  incapacitating  defect  in  his 
own  sympathies ;  some  chilling  inafiability  of  manner,  or 
heavy,  inert  unresponsiveness  of  feeling.  But  Ruth  had 
none  of  these.  Like  the  angel  with  whom  Jacob  wrestled 
of  old,  she  was  ready,  when  once  fairly  overcome,  to  bless 
you  with  any  required  amount  of  affectionate  regard. 

"  You  do  wonders  with  that  accordeon  of  yours,"  JMiss 
Essie  went  on,  after  a  moment's  pause ;  seeing  that  she  was 
to  get  no  other  answer  than  the  waiting,  listening  look  in 
Ruth's  eyes ;  "  it  is  a  mystery  to  me  how  you  get  so  much 
music  out  of  it.  If  there  is  as  much  shut  up  in  every  other 
instrument  of  the  sort,  what  a  life-long  imprisonment  it 
undergoes !  But  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  it  would  grieve 
you  very  much  to  have  your  accordeon  displaced  by  a 
melodeon  ?  " 

I  gave  a  little  start.    Ruth's  face  beamed  with  pleasure. 

"  It  would  not  grieve  me  at  all,  Miss  Volger ;  I  should 
be  delighted.  I  have  only  used  my  accordeon  in  church, 
occasionally,  because  it  was  a  little — a  very  little — better 
than  nothing.  It  helped  to  fill  up,  as  we  had  so  few  voices ; 
— sometimes,  you  know,  there  is  nobody  but  Eben  Hyde 


224  SHILOH. 

and  me.  But  is  there  really  a  prospect  of  our  having  a 
melodeon  ?  And  who  is  to  play  it  ?  " 

Miss  ESSIE.  There  is  just  that — a  prospect.  I  know 
where  a  second-hand  melodeon — in  perfect  order,  and  really, 
as  good  as  new — can  be  bought  for  fifty  dollars.  Mrs. 
Danforth  promises  to  give  ten,  I  will  give  as  much  more, 
and  I  mean  to  try  my  luck  at  begging,  for  the  balance. 
Such  an  onslaught  as  I  shall  make  on  the  double-barricaded 
pockets  of  our  Shiloh  farmers,  next  week  ! 

MALA.  There  goes  your  cherished  plan  into  fragments ! 
Miss  Essie  will  get  the  melodeon,  and  play  it ;  and  you 
will  have  neither  lot,  nor  part,  nor — worst  of  all ! — cre"dit, 
in  the  matter. 

Miss  ESSIE  (icith  evident  efforf).  And  I  have  taken  a 
vow  that  nobody  shall  escape  me.  Every  man,  woman, 
and  child,  that  I  meet  is  to  be  button-holed,  and  discoursed 
to  upon  the  blessedness  of  giving.  "  Small  sums  thankfully 
received  ;  large  ones  " — with  incredulity  !  Have  you  either 
a  large,  or  a  small  one,  to.give  me,  Miss  Frost  ? 

MALA.  It  is  too  much  to  be  asked  to  assist  in  your  own 
discomfiture !  Since  she  has  taken  the  work  out  of  your 
hands,  let  her  get  through  with  it  as  best  she  can. 

I  (coldly).  I  don't  know.  I  will  think  about  it,  Miss 
Volger. 

Essie  looked  disappointed  and  chilled,  and  bent  over  her 
work,  interweaving  her  needle  in  and  out  among  the  threads 
of  a  darn,  with  great  precision  and  persistency.  Ruth 
drove  a  nail  or  two,  plainly  with  a  divided  mind,  and  then 
broke  out  afresh. 

"  I  do  hope  we  may  get  that  melodeon !  it  would  add 
so  much  to  our  services !  But  who  will  play  it,  Miss 
Volger  ?  " 

"I  had  thought  of  asking  Miss  Frost  to  do  us  that 
favor,  while  she  stays  in  Shiloh,"  replied  Essie,  in  a  formal, 
spiritless  way  ;  "  I  have  heard  that  her  playing  is  something 
wonderful." 


SHILOH.  225 

MALA  (pricking  up  her  ears).  Ah!  you  are  not  to  be 
ignored  entirely,  it  appears !  Perhaps  you  can  afford  to  do 
something  for  them,  after  all. 

Box  A  (icith  extreme  ^severity).  It  is  your  glory,  then, 
— not  God's — which  is  in  question ! 

I  (reproachfully).  You  know  I  took  so  much  pleasure  in 
the  prospect  of  making  Him  an  offering  of  the  melodeon !  and 
that  I  reserved  Uncle  John's  check  for  that  express  purpose ! 

BOXA.  An  offering  to  Him  !  it  looks  more  like  an  offer- 
ing to^Self!  Otherwise  you  would  rejoice  to  see  that  the 
Holy  Spirit  had  stirred  up  another  heart  to  activity  in  His 
service;  and  would  willingly  stand  aside  and  give  it  way. 
So  the  Lord's  work  be  done,  according  to  His  will,  what 
can  it  matter  who  does  it  ? 

MALA.  But,  in  many  cases,  you  know  you  could  do  it  so 
much  better  than  any  one  else  ! 

BOXA.  That  you  can  never  know.  God,  surely,  un- 
derstands the  adaptations  of  His  instruments  to  the  end 
He  has  in  view ;  and  His  strength  can  be  made  perfect  in 
their  weakness.  Can  you  ever  Tje  sure  that  you  have  been 
taken  into  His  counsels,  and  that  your  end  and  His,  are  the 
same? 

I  (gloomily}.  What,  then,  am  I  to  do,  in  this  matter  ? 

BOXA.  Say,  rather,  "  Lord,  what  wilt  Thou  have  me  to 
do  ?  "  Contribute,  in  your  proportion,  to  the  purchase  of 
the  melodeon  ;  and  save  the  balance  of  your  check  for  any 
future  needs,  to  which  the  parish  may  not  so  readily  respond. 

MALA.  It  looks  so  much  more  generous  to  give  fifty 
dollars  in  a  lump,  than  to  dole  it  out,  little  by  little  ! 

BOXA.  Looks  so  to  whom  ? — God  ? 

Mala  was,  plainly,  disconcerted. 

BOXA.  Moreover,  let  Miss  Essie  play  the  melodeon,  if 
she  can  do  it  tolerably,  as  no  doubt  she  can.  It  is  her 
rightful  place,  if  she  cares  for  it,  not  yours.  Christian 
courtesy  and  humility  alike  demand  that  you,  an  outsider, 
should  not  thrust  yourself,  or  allow  yourself  to  be  thrust, 


226  SHILOH. 

into  any  position  which  can  be  filled  as  well,  and  more 
legitimately,  by  another.  There  is  always  enough  of  quiet, 
unostentatious,  yet  most  true  and  laudable,  service,  to  be 
done  for  God,  which  no  one  will  dispute  with  you.  Save 
your  strength  for  the  point  where  it  is  most  needed.  Strive 
to  be,  in  the  Church,  what  gravitation  is,  in  nature, — itself 
unseen,  but  keeping  all  things,  whether  small  or  great, 
active  or  motionless,  in  their  appropriate  places  and  doing 
their  appointed  work. 

I  sat,  gloomily  unresponsive,  staring  out  of  the  window. 

BONA  (gathering  her  forces  for  a  formal  assault}.  Perhaps 
the  Christian  grace,  of  all  others  the  hardest  to  attain,  is 
humility.  To  stand  aside,  when  we  have  fought  the  battle 
well-nigh  to  the  end,  and  let  another  bear  off  the  spoils  and 
the  honors  of  victory ;  to  sow  prayerfully,  and  water 
patiently,  and  cheerfully  resign  the  increase  to  an  after- 
comer  ; — these  are  the  things  which  show  the  stuff  we  are 
made  of !  We  can  conceive — most  reverently  be  it  spoken  ! 
— that  the  Son  of  God  Himself,  if  He  had  been  required  to 
give  up  His  great  work  of  redemption  to  an  ai-changel ; 
after  He  had  meditated  ovev  it,  aiid  prepared  for  it,  and 
"  desired  it  with  desire,"  from  the  silent  reaches  of  eternity; 
would  have  felt  a  momentary  unwillingness  to  resign, — not 
the  praise,  not  the  gratitude,  not  the  glory, — but  the  tender 
joy  of  self-sacrifice,  the  deep-down,  bitter-sweet  delight  of 
vicarious  suffering,  the  thrilling  ecstasy  of  success.  But 
2le  would  have  conquered  it,  you  know  ! 

There  was  a  brief  struggle.  Then  I  brought  my  eyes 
and  my  thoughts  back  to  the  work  in  hand.  As  soon  as  I 
could  command  my  voice,  I  said,  as  cordially  as  possible, — 

"  I  have  been  thinking  over  that  matter  of  the  melodeon, 
Miss  Essie ;  and  when  you  have  made  your  threatened  as- 
sault on  those  pockets,  will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  let  me 
know  the  amount  of  the  deficiency  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  certainly, — thank  you  !  "  she  exclaimed,  recover- 
ing her  wonted  ease  and  animation  of  manner,  at  once. 
But  further  conversation  was  stopped  by  a  fresh  arrival. 


XXII. 


DISCOKDS. 

HE  new  comers  were  Mrs.  Burcham  and  Mrs. 
w  Shemnar, — the  one  keen,  brisk,  alert,  vig- 
orous ;  the  other  slow,  bland,  smiling,  and 
vapid.  The  former  walked  straight  into  the 
room,  her  sharp  black  eyes  taking  instant  note 
of  all  that  it  contained ;  the  latter  sank  down 
on  a  box  just  outside  the  door,  complained  of 
the  heat,  and  fanned  herself  with  her  sun-bon- 
net, while  her  light  blue  eyes  wandered  slowly  and  half- 
absently  from  one  object  to  another. 

Both  looked  surprised  at  sight  of  Ruth  Winnot,  and 
each  gave  her  a  characteristic  nod ; — the  one  sharp  and 
crisp  as  a  gust  of  winter-wind,  the  other  sultry  and  turbid 
as  the  breath  of  a  morning  in  dog-days ; — but  neither  made 
any  remark.  For  which  unexpected  piece  of  consideration, 
or  mark  of  indifference,  or  uncertainty  how  to  deal  with  so 
unusual  a  fact,  or  whatever  it  might  be,  I  was  so  grateful 
to  them  that  I  gave  both  an  unwontedly  cordial  greeting. 
Which  emboldened  Mrs.  Burcham  (though  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned if  she  stood  in  need  of  such  encouragement,  and 
would  not  have  done  the  same  thing  without  it)  to  come 
and  bend  over  me,  inspecting  my  work. 

It  is  singular  how  spontaneous  and  inevitable  is  the  ten- 
dency of  soine  persons  to  arouse  antagonism,  provoke  dis- 
cussion, £ii  d  elicit  electrical  sparks  of  ill-humor,  wherever 


228  SHILOH. 

they  present  themselves.  The  acrid  quality  of  their  own 
moral  atmosphere  diffuses  itself  insensibly  around  them, 
and  is  returned  upon  them  again  and  again ;  as  the  air  of 
a  confined  room  continually  comes  back  to  be  re-inhaled, 
and  still  farther  corrupted,  by  lungs  that  have  already  viti- 
ated its  healthful,  vitalizing  properties.  It  is  probable 
enough  that  these  unfortunates  never  quite  understand  the 
nature  or  the  caiise  of  their  infelicity,  nor  by  what  natural 
and  inalterable  laws  their  own  uncomfortable  moods  are  con- 
tinually reflected  back  upon  them,  but  go  through  life  ascrib- 
ing the  opposition  they  excite  and  the  ill-temper  they  evoke 
to  causes  entirely  outside  themselves.  Either  they  believe 
that  the  world  is,  everywhere  and  always,  the  unlovely, 
bitter,  hostile,  and  provoking  thing  they  find  it ;  or  they 
fancy  that  it  cherishes  some  unaccountable  spite  and  ran- 
cor toward  them,  and  grow  ever  sourer  and  more  acrimon- 
ious thereby. 

Mrs.  Burcham  belongs  to  this  class.  She  not  only  has 
the  gift  of  making  herself  -disagreeable  in  a  marked  and 
peculiar  degree  ;  but  the  added  power  of  detecting  and 
bringing  forth,  as  by  the  touch  of  a  loadstone,  all  the  la- 
tent disagreeableness  of  others.  She  and  Mrs.  Prescott 
rarely  meet  without .  a  shower  of  sparks,  as  when  steel 
strikes  flint ;  Essie  Volger  often  comes  in  collision  with  her 
in  a  way  that  evolves  more  clash  than  harmony ;  and  more 
than  once  in  Sewing  Society  matters,  I  have  avoided  irritat- 
ing friction  only  by  declining  to  enter  into  any  discus- 
sions. 

So  innate,  and  apparently  involuntary,  is  her  propensity 
to  oppose,  to  battle,  to  condemn,  that  I  have  been  driven 
to  account  for  it  by  the  supposition  that  her  ancestors 
must  have  sprung,  somehow,  from  that  hot-headed  race 
of  warriors  which  cropped  up  out  of  the  ground  wherein 
Cadmus  had  sown  the  dragon's  teeth  ;  and  that  the  hered- 
itary instincts  have  not  been  greatly  Aveakened  by  a  long 
interfusion  of  years  and  alien  blood. 


SHILOH.  229 

"  Mercy  on  us ! "  she  exclaimed,  lifting  the  worn  and 
torn  portion  of  the  curtain  upon  which  I  was  at  work, 
"  what  in  the  world  are  you  doi.ig  with  those  ragged 
things  ?  " 

"  Mending  them,  Mrs.  Burcham." 

She  turned  to  the  part  which  had  been  restored,  and 
examined  it  minutely. 

"  Well !  it's  a  wonderful  specimen  of  mending,  there's 
no  gainsaying  that,"  she  said,  at  length, — but  rather  as  if 
she  grudged  the,  admission.  "  Still,  I  must  say,  I  think  it's 
a  frightful  waste  of  time." 

"  I  cannot  quite  agree  with  you,"  replied  I ;  "  I  do  not  re- 
gard anything,  in  reason,  as  a  waste  of  time,  which  adds  • 
to  the  comfort  or  the  tasteful  appearance  of  a  home.     The 
sense  of  sight  calls  for  some  gratification,  as  well  as  the 
other  senses." 

ESSIE  VOLGER  (taking  up  the  subject  with  animation). 
If  Miss  Frost  had  embroidered  a  pin-cushion,  or  a  tidy,  to 
give  to  Mrs.  Taylor,  you  wouldn't  have  called  it  a  waste 
of  time.  Yet  it  would  have  cost  more  work,  and  not  have 
been  doing  her  half  so  real  a  service. 

MRS.  BURCHAM.  Umph !  I've  neither  tidies  nor  mus- 
lin curtains  in  my  parlor.  My  curtains  are  of  green  paper ; 
it  didn't  cost  much  to  get  them,  and  it  won't  cost  much  to 
replace  them  when  they're  worn  out.  And  what  is  good 
enough  for  me,  is  good  enough  for  my  minister's  wife,  I 
guess. 

It  is  impossible  to  do  justice  to  the  tone  in  which  Mrs. 
Burcham  said  "  my  minister."  It  seemed  to  imply  that 
Mr.  Taylor  belonged  to  her  absolutely, — body,  soul,  family, 
and  possessions.  I  am  in  doubt  to  this  day  whether  Bona 
or  Mala  had  most  to  do  with  my  rejoinder;  certainly  it  . 
sprang  from  no  inconsiderable  depth  of  feeling  of  some  sort. 

"The  rule  admits  of  a  much  wider  application  than 
that,  Mrs.  Burcham.  In  a  certain  abstract  sense,  what  is 
good  enough  for  the  beggar  at  your  door  is  good  enough 


230  SHILOII. 

for  you ;  and  what  is  good  enough  for  you  is  good  enough 
for  the  king ;  and  what  is  agreeable  to  one  portion  of  man- 
kind ought  to  be  agreeable  to  the  rest.  Therefore,  since 
the  Esquimaux  delight  in  raw  meat  and  train-oil,  let  us 
order  them  for  dinner  to-morrow." 

ESSIE.  And  a  seal-skin  suit  to  eat  them  in  ! 

MRS.  BURCHAM  (seeing  a  loophole  of  escape,  and  making 
for  it).  You  forget  the  difference  in  climate,  Miss  Frost ! 

I  (quietly  closing  the  aperture  in  her  face].  You  forgot 
the  difference  in  taste,  habit,  education,  Mrs.  Burcham  ! 

ESSIE  (hurrying  to  make  the  fastening  secure).  Be- 
cause Mrs.  Taylor  has  been  accustomed  alt  her  life  to  do 
without  cows,  sheep,  poultry,  a  dairy  flowing  with  milk 
and  butter, — a  cheese-room  lined  with  cheeses, — a  cellar 
stored  Avith  apples,  cider,  vegetables,  pork, — presses  burst- 
ing with  blankets,  quilts,  comfortables,  linen,  and  whatever 
goes  to  make  up  the  completest  idea  of  farm-house  plenty, 
— you  would  think  it  unjust  and  unreasonable  that  you 
should  be  required  to  dispossess  yourself  of  all  these 
things.  Because  Polly  Sykes  has  no  curtains  at  all  to  her 
windows, — neither  paper,  muslin,  nor  anything  else  (ex- 
cept she  makes  an  old  newspaper  do  duty,  now  and  then), 
— is  that  a  good  reason  why  you  should  give  up  yours  ? 
So,  if  Mrs.  Taylor  has  been  accustomed  to  think  her  par- 
lor incomplete  without  snowy  muslin  curtains,  tastefully 
looped  back  from  the  windows,  and  books  on  the  table, 
and  pictures  on  the  wall ;  and  she  has  been  able  to  get 
them,  or  has  had  friends  kind  enough  to  give  them  to  her ; 
do  not  grudge  her  the  pleasure  of  having  them,  nor  Miss 
Frost's  time  in  mending  them. 

I  (giving  a  last  turn  to  the  lock).  Or,  If  you  really 
think  it  should  be  "  share  and  share  alike,"  send  her  half 
your  cows,  hens,  butter,  cheese,  etc.,  etc.,  and  take  half  of 
her  curtains  in  return. 

ESSIE  (flinging  a  gibe  through  the  keyhole}.  Mending 
thrown  in ! 


SHILOH.  231 

MRS.  BURCHAM  (her  black  eyes  flashing  ominously).  I 
don't  object  to  Mrs.  Taylor's  having  embroidered  muslin 
curtains  if  she  wants  them,  and  can  afford  it ;  I  can't. 
And  if  she  don't  mind  their  looking  like  the  last  gasp  of 
would-be  gentility,  before  it  gives  up  the  ghost !  But  I 
own  I  do  hate  to  see  time  wasted.  And  I  did  think  yours 
and  Miss  Frost's  ought  to  be  too  valuable  to  be  flung  away 
on  old  worn-out  things,  that  must  go  to  pieces  in  another 
wash  or  two,  anyhow.  But  you  ought  to  know  best  about 
that.  If  it  isn't, — all  right. 

ESSIE  (musingly).  To  be  sure,  it  would  be  better  to 
buy  new  ones, — they  might  last  longer, — and  I  think  we 
might  accomplish  it,  if  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  head 
the  subscription,  and  take  it  round. 

MRS.  BURCHAM:  (reddening  with  anger).  Thank  you, 
Miss  Volger, — but  I  believe  I  can  spend  my  time  better 
than  in  encouraging  my  minister,  or  his  wife,  to  strive  after 
the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world ;  things  he's  bound  to 
preach  against,  if  he  does  his  duty. 

ESSIE  (in  apparent  soliloquy,  holding  up  a  very  dilap- 
idated curtain,  and  gravely  surveying  it).  Um — "  pomps 
and  vanities ! "  Decidedly  more  vanity  than  pomp,  I 
should  say !  Light  as  a  feather,  and  thin  as  a  spider's 
web  !  Several  holes — and  a  border  around  them !  Plenty 
of  openwork — and  nexl  to  nothing  to  hold  it  together! 
Ventilation  amply  provided  for; — protection  dispensed 
with !  Benevolently  designed  to  let  candle-light  out — 
and  sunlight  in !  Well,  yes,  vanity  enough, — in  the  sense 
of  want  of  substance, — and  to  spare  !  .But  as  for — 

AUNT  Vi^r  (severely,  from  the  doonoay,  having  caught 
the  last  sentences  in  passing).  Essie  Volger!  you  must  be 
inside  yourself  to  be  a-holding  Mr.  Taylor's  things  up  to 
ludicule,  like  that !  I'm  ashamed  of  you  !  And  as  for  the 
curtains,  I'm  sure  they  look  well  enough,  after  they're 
mended,  if  they  was  a  little  decapitated,  to  begin  with. 

"  Aunt  Viu  !  "   screamed  Essie,  hysterically,  "  I  never 


232  siiiLoir. 

thought  of  ridiculing  the  curtains.  I  was  merely  trying 
to  convince  Mrs.  Burcham  that  they  do  not  come  under 
the  head  of  the  pomps  of  this  world." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  returned  Aunt  Vin,  emphatically. 
"  Seems  to  me  they'd  go  better  among  the  fortifications  of 
the  flesh.  Though,  to  be  sure,  you've  put  in  those  patches 
and  darns  so  nicely  that  they  ain't  even  risible  from  here. 
But  when  I  do  get  nigh  enough  to  extinguish  'em,  they  go 
to  my  heart.  They  show  so  plainly  how  ministers  have  to 
save  and  pinch  to  get  along  and  keep  up  a  decent  appari- 
tion before  folks, — for  it  won't  do  for  ministers  to  go  shab- 
by, they  nor  their  houses, — they've  got  to  look  respectable 
outside,  though  they've  got  nothing  inside  but  the  heads 
of  their  next  concourse  and  an  appetite  !  And  what  'toils 
and  hardships  they  have  to  endure,  and  no  thanks  to  no- 
body !  Poor  creturs !  they  have  to  do  the  most  work  for 
the  least  rumination  of  anybody  I  know  of!" 

And  Aunt  Vin  went  back  to  her  work,  shaking  her  head 
most  lugubriously. 

Mrs.  Burcham  started  to  follow  her,  but  stopped  in  the 
doorway  to  say,'  petulantly, 

"  I'm  sick  of  hearing  people  talk  about  ministers'  toils 
and  sacrifices  !  As  if  they  weren't  well  paid  for  it !  " 

Now  this  has  been  a  sore  point  with  me,  Francesca, 
ever  since  I  found  Cousin  Will  in  that  miserable  little  fos- 
silized parish  of  Redburn,  in  a  community  of  well-to-do 
farmers,  going  without  eggs,  milk,  or  butter,  for  weeks  to- 
gether, to  say  nothing  of  things  even  more  necessary  ; — in 
short,  patiently  solving  the  problem  how  little  could  keep 
body  and  soul  together ;  and  in  imminent  danger  of  sun- 
dering that  long-suffering  pair,  some  frosty  morning,  by  a 
very  slight  miscalculation.  I  suddenly  flashed  out,  there- 
fore : — 

"  Do  you  really  think  they  are  well  paid  for  it,  Mrs. " 
Burcham  ?     When  you  send  for  a  clergyman,  at  dead  of 
night,  to  baptize  your  sick  child,  do  you  pay  him  for  it  ? 


SHILOH.  233 

When  you  desire  him  to  come  five  miles  into  the  country 
to  preach  a  sermon  over  it,  and  three  miles  in  another  di- 
rection to  see  it  decently  buried, — obliging  him  to  hire  a 
horse  and  carriage  for  the  transit, — do  you  pay  him  for  it  ? 
When  he  visits  you  in  your  desolation,  and  teaches  you 
how  to  assume  the  garments  of  praise  for  the  spirit  of 
heaviness,  do  you  pay  him  for  it  ?  When  he  leads  you, 
step  by  step,  down  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
— never  letting  go  your  hand  until  he  has  put  it  into  the 
strong,  tender  one  of  Christ, — do  you  pay  him  for  it  ?  And 
while,  year  after  year,  he  watches  for  your  soul,  as  one  who 
must  give  account ;  battling  with  your  indifference,  bearing 
with  your  asperities,  patient  with  your  infirmities,  gentle 
with  your  prejudices,  sorrowing  over  your  lapses  into  sin, 
carrying  you  daily  before  the  throne  of  grace,  and  wrestling 
with  God,  as  Jacob  of  old,  for  a  blessing  upon  you  and 
yours, — do  you  pay  him  for  it  ?  Or  are  all  these  things 
'  in  the  bond '  whereby  Shiloh  (Shylock  were  the  better 
name,  methinks  !)  agrees  to  receive  him  as  her  clergyman, 
and  to  pay  something  less  than  four  hundred  dollars  for 
his  services  ?  Does  that  mean  service  by  day,  service  by 
night,  service  in  sickness,  service  iu  health,  service  of  head 
and  heart,  service  of  prayer  and  teaching,  service  of  care, 
of  counsel,  of  warning,  of  forbearance,  of  consolation  ? 
Are  all  his  kindly  affections  and  quiet  charities, — every 
timely  admonition, — every  sympathetic  tear, — every  pro- 
duct of  brain  and  hand, — reckoned  as  bought  and  paid  for 
by  that  four  hundred  dollars  ?  Does  nothing  remain  for 
friendliness,  for  generosity  ?  *For  four  hundred  dollars,  is 
he  supposed  to  have  become  so  poor,  abject,  slavish,  that 
he  has  nothing  left  to  give  to  another, — either  of  the  warmth 
of  his  heart,  the  utterance  of  his  lips,  or  the  prayers  of  his 
soul  ?  Are  none  of  these  his  ?  are  they  all  '  i'  the  bond  ? ' 
All  sold  to  Shiloh  for  four  hundred  dollars  !  And  an  ex- 
cellent bargain  !  He  is  '  well  paid  ! ' ' 

MRS.  BUECHAM  {looking  somewhat  aghast).  Of  course  I 
didn't  mean  all  that,  Miss  Frost ! 


234:  BHILOII. 

I.  "Will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell  me  what  you  did 
mean,  then  ? 

MES.  BUKCHAM  (stammering).  Why — a — you  know — a 
— that — a — we  have  a  right  to  expect  that  our  minister 
shall  visit  us  in  sickness,  and  attend  our  funerals,  and  all 
those  things,  because  we  all  help  to  support  him,  you 
know. 

L  Help  to  support  him  !  There  it  is  !  Every  other 
laborer  is  supposed  to  support  himself  by  his  labor;  a 
clergyman  is  said  to  be  "  supported  by  "  his  parish.  He 
never  earns  a  fair  salary,  but  his  people  "give  him  a  com- 
fortable support !  "  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  say  that 
you  helped  to  support  your  grocer,  butcher,  shoemaker, 
physician,  lawyer,  Mrs.  Burcham  ?  Did  you  ever  base  on 
that  ground  a  claim  to  overweight  in  every  pound  of  sugar, 
gratuitous  supplies  of  meat,  several  pairs  of  shoes  per  year 
as  a  bonus  for  your  patronage,  night-visits  never  to  be 
charged  in  the  bill,  and  briefs  and  travelling  not  to  be  in- 
cluded in  the  fees  ?  Yet  a  clergyman  has  his  regular  work, 
for  which  he  receives  a  stipulated  payiflent,  just  as  much 
as  any  of  these, — writing  of  sermons  on  week-days,  officiat- 
ing in  desk  and  pulpit  on  Sundays,  care  of  Sunday  School, 
baptism  of  infants,  regular  visitation  of  parish,  and  perhaps 
burials  of  his  own  congregation  (which  he  has  a  right  to 
expect  will  be  so  arranged  as  to  cause  him  no  expense).  If, 
in  addition  to  these,  out  of  the  largeness  of  his  heart  and 
his  zeal  for  his  Master's  service,  he  chooses  to  hold  himself 
at  the  beck  and  call  of  every  conscience-stricken  soul*  every 
sick  woman,  every  dying  man,  every  corpse,  every  mourner, 
every  poverty-pinched  household,  within  a  radius  of  five 
miles  of  his  dwelling  ;  though  such  claimant  never  entered 
his  church  nor  gave  a  sixpence  toward  his  salary ;  let  it 
be  so  accounted  of  as  a  favor,  a  deed  of  brotherly  kindness, 
a  loving  gift  of  a  generous  heart,  to  be  gratefully  received 
and  thankfully  acknowledged,  and  not  as  a  service  set 
down  in  the  bond,  and  duly  paid  for !  Do  not  assume  that, 


SIIILOH.  235 

because  he  is  paid  for  conducting  public  worship,  he  is  also 
paid  for  kneeling  at  your  bedside  and  commending  your 
soul  to  God.  In  the  first  place,  love,  sympathy,  private 
prayers,  are  not  bought  and  sold  in  the  market.  In  the 
second  place,  if  they  were,  they  would  command  a  higher 
price. 

MRS.  BUECHAM  (having  recovered  herself}.  You  speak 
very  contemptuously  of  that  four  hundred  dollars ;  I  sup- 
pose it  does  seem  small  to  any  one  with  extravagant  city 
notions.  But  it  is  more  than  half  the  families  in  Shiloh 
have  to  live  upon.  Major  Burcham  and  I  haven't  spent 
over  three  hundred,  this  last  year,  all  told. 

Miss  ESSIE.  Did  you  reckon  all  the  milk,  butter,  eggs, 
potatoes,  early  vegetables,  pork,  rye,  etc.,  that  you  used,  at 
the  market  price  ? 

MKS.  BURCHAM  (carelessly}.  Oh !  we  raise  all  those 
things,  you  know ! 

ESSIE  (tcith  a  fiery  spark  in  her  eye).  But  Mr.  Taylor 
does  not  raise  them,  you  know !  He  has  his  sermons  to 
write,  and  he  must  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  respond  to 
your  calls  in  sickness,  trouble  and  death.  He  buys  them, 
and  you  sell  them  to  him  at  the  highest  market  prices. 
You  do  not  think  them  worth  reckoning  among  your  living 
expenses ;  they  form  a  large  item  in  his.  If  they  really 
cost  you  nothing,  why  not  let  him  have  them  at  the  same 
cheap  rate?  Come,  I'll  be  one  of  fifteen  or  twenty  to 
furnish  Mr.  Taylor  with  everything  of  ordinary  farm-growth 
that  he  needs  during  the  coming  year.  If  we  do  not  feel 
the  loss  of  what  we  use  ourselves,  nor  make  any  account  of 
it,  we  shall  not  be  ruined  by  an  additional  fifteenth  or 
twentieth  of  his  consumption. 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

Then  Mrs.  Shemnar  said,  with  her  weak  little  laugh, 
"  It's  all  very  well  for  rich  people  like  you,  Essie  Volger,  to 
make  such  a  proposal,  but — " 

ESSIE,  (interrupting  her}.  That  shall  not  stand  in  the 


236  SHILOH. 

way  for  a  moment.  I  will  give  two  shares,  or  three,  in 
proportion  to  my  means. 

Another  silence.  Essie  waited  for  some  moments,  while 
the  flush  slowly  faded  from  her  cheek ;  then  she  resumed 
her  work,  and  her  full,  red  lip  took  on  its  most  scornful 
curve. 

BONA  (softly).  Do  you  not  see  that  all  your  discussion, 
carried  on  in  this  spirit,  is  worse  than  useless?  Mrs.  Bur- 
cham  and  Mrs.  Shemnar  will  remember  all  your  gibes  and 
stings,  and  forget  your  reasoning. 

I  (choking  down  an  irritating  remark  that  was  rising  to 
my  lips).  Well!  a  truce  to  discussion!  No  doubt  Mrs. 
Burcham  will  find  her  own  graceful  and  effectual  way  of 
showing  her  regard  for  Mr.  Taylor ;  even  though  she  does 
not  join  in  our  curtain-mending,  nor  accept  your  proposi- 
tion in  regard  to  the  farm-produce,  Miss  Essie.  Probably 
she  realizes,  not  less  fully  than  we,  that  his  happiness  and 
that  of  his  family  depend,  from  henceforth,  very  much  upon 
the  kindness,  sympathy,  and  forbearance,  of  this  people. 
She  feels  that  whatever  we  do  to  make  his  abode  a  "  House 
Beautiful,"  will,  like  all  kindly,  unselfish  work,  react  favor- 
ably upon  ourselves.  Any  parish  which  does  its  best  to 
provide  its  clergyman  with  a  pleasant  and  convenient 
home;  thereby  freeing  him  from  petty  annoyances  and 
cares,  and  enabling  him  to  give  his  mind  more  unreservedly 
to  his  intellectual  and  moral  work ;  will  surely  find  its  ac- 
count, not  only  in  the  heartier,  more  thorough  and  more 
helpful  ministrations  it  will  receive,  but  in  its  own  warmer 
interest  and  affection,  and  its  more  vigorous  life.  And  there 
will  be,  between  it  and  its  minister,  a  continually  increasing 
interchange  of  kindly  deeds,  delicate  consideration,  grati- 
tude, sympathy,  love.  Very  different  from  the  parochial  re- 
lation which  exists  where  the  clergyman  is  expected  to  visit 
constantly,  and  never  be  visited;  always  to  sympathize, 
yet  ask  for  no  sympathy ;  to  pray  for  all,  and  be  prayed 
for  of  noiie ;  to  study  the  welfare  of  each  individual  in  his 


BHiLorr.  237 

cure,  while  no  one  takes  thought  for  him !  I  wotild  not 
quarrel  with  the  first-mentioned  parish,  if  it  did  assert  that 
it  '  gave  its  clergyman  a  support ; '  since  it  would  doubtless 
be  equally  ready  to  declare  that  its  clergyman  gave,  in  re- 
turn, his  labor  and  his  love — the  best  of  his  thought  and 
life.  And  I  feel  sure  that  Mrs.  Burcham  will  do  what  she 
can  to  make  Shiloh  such  a  parish. 

MBS.  BURCI-IAM  (accepting  the  overture}.  Of  course,  I 
want  Mr.  Taylor  to  have  everything  convenient  and  com- 
fortable, and  I'm  willing  to  do  anything  in  reason  to  make 
it  so.  But  I  shan't  do  much  toward  it,  if  I  stand  here 
talking  all  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Shemnar,  you  and  I  might 
as  well  take  that  bedroom  in  hqnd.  I'll  go  and  look  up 
Mr.  Taylor,  and  find  out  what's  to  go  in  it. 

In  obedience  to  which  beneficent  inspiration,  the  two 
ladies  walked  off.  Shortly  after,  Mrs.  Seber,  Mrs.  Banser, 
and  Miss  Bryer  arrived,  and  undertook  to  reduce  the 
kitchen  to  order.  Another  small  party  set  about  impart- 
ing a  look  of  orderliness  to  the  second  floor.  Aunt  Vin 
had  already  installed  herself  in  the  pantry,  and  was  scrub- 
bing, polishing,  and  arranging,  con  amore. 

The  long  summer  afternoon  wore  on.  Once  I  was  called 
to  the  sitting-room  by  Mrs.  Prescott,  to  give  my  voice  in 
some  question  of  arrangement;  and  as  I  halted  in  the 
kitchen  on  my  return,  I  was  pleased  to  hear  Ruth  Winnot 
babbling  away  like  a  meadow-brook  to  Essie  Volger,  while, 
now  and  then,  her  laugh  gurgled  merrily  through  both 
rooms.  Coming  nearer,  and  seeing  her  face  uplifted  and 
aglow,  and  her  eyes  dancing  with  merriment,  I  could 
scarcely  rid  myself  of  the  impression  that  the  wan  and 
mournful  Ruth  had  somehow  been  spirited  away,  and  this 
bright,  merry,  sparkling  creature  substituted  in  her  place. 
I  was  even  a  little  saddened  by  the  sight ;  as  if  I  had  found 
a  bird  singing  its  song,  and  building  its  nest,  in  a  flickering 
strip  of  winter  sunshine,  mistaking  it  for  the  dawn  of  an 
unending  summer. 


238  SIIILOII. 

At  six  o'clock  everything  was  complete ;  the  old  house 
prepared  for  the  new  life  which1  was  to  be  lived  in  it ; 
which,  nevertheless,  would  not  be  much  unlike  many  other 
lives  it  had  known  (since  it  must  be  woven  of  the  same 
human  warp  and  woof)  ;  yet  would  be  well  worth  living 
through,  notwithstanding,  with  the  peaceful  light  of  piety 
shed  over  it,  and  immortal  hope  shining  far  on  into  the 
dusk. 

There  is  no  resisting  the  natural  gravitation  of  a  farm- 
house toward  the  kitchen.  It  was  there  that  we  all  assem- 
bled, by  tacit  concurrence,  when  the  work  was  done ;  and 
it  was  there  that  I  said : 

"  It  seems  to  me  it  would  be  well  to  sing  the  Gloria 
in  Excelsis  now,  by  way  of  pleasant  finale  to  our  after- 
noon. We  will  baptize  the  old  house  in  a  stream  of  har- 
mony, making  short  work  with  ghosts  and  spells,  and 
washing  away  whatever  discordances  of  feeling,  temper, 
opinion,  or  faith,  may  cling  to  the  walls.  Lead  off, 
Ruth." 

Ruth  lifted  up  her  voice  with  fervor,  Essie  joined  in 
spiritedly,  I  took  the  alto,  Mr.  Taylor  supplied  the  needed 
background  of  a  bass,  and  other  voices  fell  in  or  stayed 
out,  according  to  inclination  or  ability.  The  glorious  old 
song  of  praise  rolled  its  rich  tide  through  the  rooms,  pene- 
trating to  the  darkest  corners  of  garret  and  cellar,  and 
leaving  everywhere,  I  hoped,  some  helpful,  healing,  reviv- 
ing influence. 

Then,  the  party  scattered.  Before  Miss  Essie  took  her 
leave,  she  invited  Alice  and  myself  to  tea  with  her  the 
next  afternoon  ;  and  managed  to  include  Ruth  in  the  invi- 
tation, with  so  much  tact  and  cordiality,  that  the  would-be 
recluse  promised  to  go  before  she  knew  it,  and  was  left  in  a 
state  of  infinite  amazement  because  she  had  done  so. 

When  all  had  gone,  save  our  own  little  party,  Mrs. 
Prescott  drew  me  aside  into  the  pantry.  Loaves  of  bread, 
piles  of  biscuit,  a  tempting  variety  of  cakes,  balls  of  but- 


BIIILOH.  239 

tcr,  triangles  of  cheese,  brown-paper  parcels,  and  baskets 
of  fruit  and  vegetables,  were  marshalled  upon  its  shelves ; 
in  sufficient  force  to  ensure  to  Mrs.  Taylor  some  weeks 
of  easy  and  inexpensive  housekeeping.  Mrs.  Prescott 
pointed  them  out,  and  named  their  donors,  with  a  mix- 
ture of  feelings.  Mrs.  Danforth  had  covered  herself  with 
glory. 

"  She  said  she'd  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  in  her  life," 
said  my  guide,  "  but,  as  soon  as  she  found  out  what  I 
wanted,  she  was  ready  to  send  everything  she  had  in  the 
house." 

To  one -small  card  of  gingerbread,  however,  with  a 
kind  of  Uriah  Heep  air  about  it,  she  gave  a  withering 
glance. 

"I  would  just  like  to  chuck  that  out  of  window," 
she  said,  spitefully.  "  Would  you  believe  it  ?  that's  all 
Mrs.  Burcham  brought,  and  she  as  well  <5ff  as  anybody  in 
the  parish,  if  not  better  !  The  truth  is,  some  give  liberally 
and  some  don't  give  at  all ;  and  all  share  the  credit.  Mr. 
Taylor  sees  his  pantry  well  filled,  and  thinks  everybody 
has  had  a  hand  in  it,  and  believes  he's  in  clover.  But  he 
won't  live  here  long  without  finding  out  who  his  friends 
are, — that's  one  comfort !  " 

A  comfort  that  has  its  reverse  of  discomfort  ? 

Mr.  Taylor  was  to  spend  the  night  at  the  Divines ;  not 
to  disturb  the  newly-created  order  of  his  dwelling,  before 
its  mistress's  arrival.  Therefore,  windows  were  shut 
and  doors  fastened ;  and  finally,  standing  on  the  broad, 
irregularly-shaped  doorstep,  he  turned  the  key  on  the  si- 
lence within. 

"  How  strange,"  said  Alice,  softly,  "  to  have  a  home  full 
of  promise,  and  not  one  memory  !  " 


XXIII. 


two 


LEO. 

HAT  the  evening  was  not  dull,  after  our  busy 
and  fatiguing  afternoon  at  the  Gwynne 
Place,  was  chiefly  owing  to  "Leo.  The 
suppers  incident  to  summer  farm  life — an 
early  one  for  the  women  and  guests,  and  an- 
other for  the  "menfolks"  returning  at  dusk 
from  their  labor — being  over;  Mr.  Taylor  was 
formally  presented  to  that  black  incarnation  of 
canine  majesty,  as  I  had  been,  on  the  night  of  my  arrival 
in  Shiloh. 

"  May  be  you'll  think  it's  almost  an  impertinence,  now ; 
but  you  won't  when  you  see  what  comes  of  it,  one  of  these 
days,"  said  Mr.  Divine,  with  a  good-natured  twinkle  in  his 
eye.  "Leo's  friendship's  worth  more  than  that  of  a  good 
many  humans  in  your  congregation,  Mr.  Taylor." 

"  Indeed  !  That  may  be  saying  a  good  deal  for  the  dog, 
Mr.  Divine  ;  but  it  is  not  saying  much  for  the  '  humans.'  " 

"  Isn't  it  ?  "  returned  the  farmer,  with  his  low,  mellow 
laugh.  "When  you  come  to  know  Leo  better,  may  be 
you'll  change  your  mind.  For  my  part,  I  know  lots  of 
folks  that  'ud  be  a  good  deal  better  members  of  society,  if 
they'd  be  only  just  half  as  careful  to  do  their  ditty,  as  far 
as  they  know  what  'tis,  as  Leo  is  to  do  his'n.  If  he  hasn't 
got  a  soul,  he's  got  a  bigger  and  a  cleaner  conscience  than 
most  men.  Why,  I  don't  think  he's  shirked  work  or  dis- 
obeyed an  order  five  times  since  I've  had  him ;  and  that's 
agoin'  on  seven  year,  now." 


*  SHILOH.  241 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Mr.  Taylor,  beginning  to  look  in- 
terested. "  Not  one  sin  per  year  against  his  conscience 
— that  is  a  clean  record !'  I  wish  mine  were  as  fair ! " — 
and  the  clergyman  sighed. 

By  and  by,  Mrs.  Divine  brought  forth  cakes,  apples,  and 
other  convenient  refreshments,  for  her  guests ;  whereupon 
Philip,  the  younger  of  her  sons,  conceived  the  brilliant  idea 
that  Leo  might  be  made  to  act  as  waiter.  Accordingly,  the 
basket  of  apples  was  put  into  the  dog's  mouth,  and  he  was 
bidden  to  "  pass  it  round."  Two  or  three  mistakes,  at  the 
outset, — such  as  depositing  the  basket  and  its  contents  in 
my  lap ;  and  then  setting  it  on  the  floor  and  daintily  pre- 
senting an  apjale  to  Alice  with  his  teeth, — provoked  much 
mirth;  as  well  as  the  proud  gravity  with  which  he  per- 
formed the  task,  when  it  became  clear  to  him  precisely 
what  was  Avanted: — while  his  quickness  in  catching  the 
idea  seemed  truly  wonderful  to  one  not  acquainted  with  his 
capacity  for  far  better  things.  Mr.  Taylor's  admiration, 
therefore,  was  extreme  and  enthusiastic. 

"  The  most  intelligent  animal  I  ever  saw ! "  exclaimed 
he.  "  I've  seen  trained  dogs,  of  course,  and  I  know  how 
they  become  so  accomplished — by  dint  of  a  long  course  of 
whips  and  starvation.  But  a  great,  noble  fellow  like  that, 
who  understands  what  you  say,  and  takes  an  idea  almost 
as  quick  as  it  is  presented  to  him, — I  declare  !  it's  enough 
to  make  one  believe  in  the  transmigration  of  souls  !•  What 
would  you  sell  him  for  ?  I  suppose  he  is  worth  a  good  deal 
of  money." 

"  Sell  him  !  "  repeated  Mr.  Divine,  laughing  quietly, — 
"  Sell  him  !  I'll  tell  you  how  near  I  came  to  selling  him 
once,  and  what  I  was  offered  for  him ;  and  then,  perhaps 
you'll  tell  me  what  you'd  take  for  him,  if  he  belonged  to  you. 

You  see  I've  got  a  brother  that  lives  down  to Point, 

Long  Island ;  and  he  wrote  me  last  fall  that  there  was  a 
gentleman  in  his  neighborhood  who  wanted  to  buy  a  right 
smart,  knowing  Newfoundland ;  and  if  I  was  willing  to  sell 
11 


242  siiiLoii, 

Leo,  he  thought  I  could  get  at  least  fifty  or  sixty  dollars 
for  him,  and  perhaps  more.  Well,  just  about  that  time  I 
happened  to  be  pretty  hard  pushed  for  money ; — I  had  a 
note  coming  due  in  a  month,  and  nothing  to  meet  it  with. 
I'd  got  to  sell  something,  and — in  short,  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  I  could  spare  Leo  better'n  anything  else,  though  I 
hated  awfully  to  part  with  him.  So  I  and  Leo  went  down  to 

Point.    When  we  got  there,  the  gentleman — a  3Ir.  Fife 

— had  gone  to  York,  to  spend  a  day  or  two ;  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done  but  wait  till  he  come  back.  Well,  the 
next  day  was  fine, — the  sun  bright  and  warm,  the  water 
dancing  and  shining  like  quicksilver, — so  brother  took  me 
out  a  sailing.  Leo  followed  me  into  the  boat,  but  there  was 
five  of  us  on  board, — my  brother  and  three  of  his  children, 
besides  myself, — and  I  thought  he  might  be  in  the  way ;  so 
I  ordered  him  out,  and  told  him  to  stay  behind.  He  don't 
often  disobey  orders,  as  I  told  you ;  but  the  water  down 
there  seemed  to  set  him  most  crazy, — he'd  never  seen  any- 
thing bigger  than  our  rivfcr  before, — and  he  wanted  to  be 
in  it  all  the  time.  So,  after  we'd  got  out  a  piece,  lo  and  be- 
hold !  there  come  Leo  swimming  alongside ;  and  trying  to 
look,  the  rogue !  as  if  he  thought  that  was  what  was 
meant ;  and  if  he  wasn't  wanted  in  the  boat,  there  couldn't 
be  the  least  objection  to  his  going  outside,  as  convoy !  I 
began  to  scold,  and  was  about  to  send  him  straight  back ; 
but  the  boys  pleaded  hard  for  him,  and  brother  said  he 
guessed  we  might  as  well  take  him  on  board,  seem'  he 
wanted  to  go  so  bad ;  and  I  finally  gave  in,  and  Leo  came 
over  the  side,  as  happy  a  dog  as  ever  you  see.  . 

"  Well,  we  sailed  along,  as  nice  as  you  please,  for  an 
hour  or  so ;  and  brother  and  I  got  -to  talkin'  about  old 
times,  when  we  was  boys  together,  and  didn't  take  much 
notice  of  what  was  going  on ;  when,  all  at  once,  we  found 
that  the  sky  was  all  clouded  over  behind  us,  and  a  storm 
trotting  up  in  our  rear  faster  than  any  race-horse.  Of 
course,  we  put  about  right  away,  but  that  brought  the 


6HILOH.  243 

• 

wind  dead  ahead,  and  blowih'  mighty  strong ;  and  'twas 
slow  work  beating  back  towards  the  Point.  Then,  the 
storm  broke  on  us,- — whew  !  I  never  knew  what  wind  was 
till  then;  it  seemed  as  if  'twould  blov  us  out  of  water. 
Brother  took  another  reef  in  the  sail,  and  we  staggered 
along  a  bit ;  and  then,  just  as  we  were  going  to  come  about 
on  'tother  tack,  there  was  a  whiz  and  a  bang  and  a  crash, 
and  our  mast  was  snapped  off,  close  to  the  deck,  as  clean  as 
a  whistle  !  Mast  and  sail  both  overboard !  Brother  hur- 
ried to  cut  'em  all  clear,  for  fear  they'd  swamp  us ;  and 
then ! — I  shall  never  forget  the  look  in  his  face  as  he 
turned  round  and  gasped  out,  '  The  oars  !  good  heavens ! 
we've  forgot  the  oars ! ' 

"  Well !  there  we  was,  drifting  out  to  sea  as  swift  as 
wind  and  water  could  carry  us,  and  nothing  to  do  but  fold 
our  hands  and  calc'late  how  fast  they  were  adoin'  it! 
Nothing  in  sight, — indeed,  we  couldn't .  see  three  boat- 
lengths  through  the  storm ;  for  the  rain  began  to  pour 
down  in  sheets,  now, — though,  to  be  sure,  that  brought 
down  the  wind  a  little.  But  'twas  getting  so  cold,  I 
thought  'twouldn't  take  long  for  us  all  to  freeze  as  hard 
as  rocks,  in  our  seats, — if  we  didn't  go  to  the  bottom 
first.  And  I  began  to  think  'twas  about  time  for  me  to  be 
settling  up  my  account  with  this  world,  when  Leo — I  sup- 
pose he  saw  the  trouble  in  my  face — crept  up  and  began  to 
lick  my  hand.  Brother  saw  him,  and  his  face  brightened  a 
little.  '  How  far  can  Leo  swim  ?  '  says  he, — '  I  don't  know,' 
says  I,  '  he's  never  been  tried,  that  I  know  of.' — '  If  he 
could  swim  ashore,  now,'  says  he,  thoughtfully,  'there 
might  be  some  chance  for  us : — but  no,  it's  too  far ;  he 
can't  do  it.  I  don't  suppose  he'd  even  try.' — '  He'll  do  any- 
thing that  I  tell  him  to,  if  he  thinks  it's  important,'  says 
I ;  '  or  he'll  die  atrying.'  So  brother  wrote  a  line  to  his 
wife  ;  and  I  rolled  it  up  tight  in  my  handkerchief,  and  tied 
it  fast  to  Leo's  collar.  Then  I  took  his  head  between  my 
hands,  and  looked  him  right  in  the  eye,  and  says  I,  '  Leo, 


244  SHILOH. 

old  fellow  !  if  you  can  carry  that  letter  ashore,  to  my  sis- 
ter Nancy,  may  be  you'll  save  your  master's  life ;  if  you 
can't,  good  bye,  for  you've  seen  your  last  of  him ! '  And  I 
made  him  a  sign  to,  go  overboard." 

Mr.  Divine's  voice  faltered.  Leo  went  to  his  side,  and 
laid  his  huge  head  upon  his  arm,  looking  up  at  him  with 
great,  soft  eyes,  full  of  intelligent  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Divine  took  off  her  spectacles,  and  wiped  them 
with  great  circumspection.  "  Father  always  breaks  down 
when  he  gets  to  that  part  of  the  stoiy,  as  many  times  as 
he  has  told  it,"  said  she,  with  a  somewhat  hysterical  laugh. 
"And  Leo  knows  the  story  just  as  well  as  he  does,  every 
word  of  it.  Watch  him  now,  and  see  if  he  don't." 

Mr.  Divine  proceeded. 

"  "Well,  Leo  looked  me  right  in  the  eye,  too,  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  and  if  ever  a  dog's  face  said,  '  Master,  I'll  save  you, 
or  I'll  die,'  Leo's  face  said  it  then.  Actually,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  there  was  tears  in  his  eyes !  And  then,  he  sprang 
overboard,  and  was  out  of  sight  among  the  boiling  waves, 
in  a  moment. 

"  Well,  when  the  storm  came  on,  and  we  didn't  come 
home,  you  won't  need  to  be  told  that  my  brother's  wife, 
Nancy,  began  to  get  scared.  And  she  kept  agoing  to  the 
door  and  looking  out,  to  see  if  she  couldn't  hear  or  see 
something  of  us ;  and  finally,  as  she  opened  the  door  for 
another  look,  Leo  dragged  himself  across  the  threshold,  all 
dripping,  looked  up  in  her  face,  gave  a  mournful  soi't  of  a 
howl  and  fell  over  on  the  floor  at  her  feet,  just  like  a  log. 
Nancy  thought  that  the  boat  had  surely  capsized,  and  we'd 
all  been  drowned  ;  and  Leo  had  just  made  out  to  swim 
ashore,  but  only  to  die  of  exhaustion.  You  can  guess 
what  a  state  of  mind  she  was  in,  till  one  of  the  children 
said,  '  Mamma,  what's  that  on  Leo's  collar  ?  '  So  then  she 
found  brother's  note.  You  may  be  sure  she  didn't  waste 
much  time  !  She  sent  the  children  one  way,  and  went  an- 
other herself;  and  pretty  soon  all  the  neighbors  were  out 


SHILOH.  245 

after  us  with  boats  and  lanterns, — for  the  storm  was  now  de- 
creasing fast.  They  found  us,  of  course,  or  I  shouldn't  be 
here  to  tell  the  story  ! 

"  When  Nancy  got  back  home,  Leo  was  lying  just 
where  she  left  him,  looking  a  good  deal  more  dead  than 
alive  ;  but  she  found  he  still  breathed  faintly.  So  she  and 
the  children  pulled  him  up  to  the  fire,  rubbed  him  and 
wrapped  him  in  blankets,  poured  warm  milk  and  brandy 
down  his  throat,  and  got  him  so  that  when  I  came  in,  he 
could  just  raise  himself  up  on  his  forelegs  and  lick  my 
hand.  But  it  was  three  or  four  days  before  he  got  that 
swim  out  of  his  bones.  As  nigh  as  we  could  calculate,  he 
must  have  swum  from  eight  to  ten  mile  that  night,  in  that 
heavy  sea.  And  I've  always  thought  that  he  never  could 
have  done  it,  if  he'd  nobody  but  himself  to  think  of.  But 
he  couldn't  fail  his  master.  He  couldn't  make  up  his  mind 
to  stop  and  rest,  or  give  up  and  go  under,  with  his  errand 
undone." 

Never  was  dog's  face  so  eloquent  as  Leo's  while  this 
narrative  was  going  on.  It  was  almost  human  in  its  ex- 
pressiveness. Plainly,  he  comprehended  every  word,  every 
detail.  And  when  Mr.  Divine  paused,  he  reared  his  mag- 
nificent head  and  looked  round  upon  us  with  the  calm  dig- 
nity of  conscious  worth. 

"  Well !  "  continued  Mr.  Divine,  "  the  story  was  all 
round,  next  day,  of  course;  and  Mr.  Fife  heard  it,  and 
came  to  see  me.  He  offered  me  seventy-five,  and  a  hun- 
dred, and  a  hundred-and-fifty  dollars,  for  Leo  ;  and  I  can't 
say  how  high  he'd  have  gone,  if  I  hadn't  cut  him  short  by 
telling  him  that  I'd  about  as  lief  sell  him  one  of  my  chil- 
dren." 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  burst  out  Mr.  Taylor,  very  em- 
phatically, but  with  a  little  unsteadiness  of  voice. 

"  So,"  concluded  Mr.  Divine,  "  I  brought  Leo  home 
with  me,  and  sold  a  couple  of  cows  instead.  Poor  econ- 
omy, I  s'pose ;  but  when  feeling  gets  into  the  accounts,  it's 


246  SHILOH. 

apt  to  play  the  mischief  with  the  balance  !  Anyhow,  I've 
never  been  sorry.  Leo  and  I  won't  part,  now,  till  one  or 
t'other  of  us  dies." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Leo,"  yawned  Phil,  lazily,  "just  hand  me  another  ap- 
ple, will  you  ?  " 

And  Leo,  with  a  half-sigh,  as  if  deprecating  so  sudden 
a  descent  from  the  heroic  to  the  commonplace,  brought  him 
the  basket. 


XXIV. 


LIFE'S  QUIET  PLOW. 

OU  desire  me  to  tell  you  something  of  my 
heart-life,  Francesca.  I  know  not  that  I 
have  any,  in  your  sense  of  the  term.  Ex- 
cept by  that  daily  battle  between  Good  and 
Evil — to  which  no  anguish  and  no  sorrow 
bring  lasting  truce ;  and  of  which,  surely,  I 
send  you  voluminous  report — my  heart  gives 
little  sign  of  life.  I  think  it  is  slowly  healing 
(or  dying,  I  am  doubtful  which)  down  there,  in  the  dusk 
and  the  quiet ;  but  I  resolutely  refuse  to  make  any  investi- 
gation of  the  process.  It  is  sore  enough  still,  I  suspect,  to 
the  touch. 

In  one  thing,  I  can  discover  a  little  improvement.  My 
mind  no  longer  insists  upon  a  daily,  hourly  wandering 
through  the  silent  Forum  of  my  Past,  mournful  with  the 
ruins  of  vanished  glory.  The  duties  and  cares  of  the  Present 
continually  start  up  by  the  way,  and  turn  it  back  from  that 
dreary,  unprofitable  journey.  Between  Sewing  Society  in- 
terests, and  night  watchings,  and  daily  lessons  with  Ruth 
and  Alice,  etc.,  etc.,  it  finds  enough  of  travel  and  of  inter- 
est within  its  immediate  sphere.  The  thousand  little  pre- 
sent plans  and  anxieties  crowd  in ;  and  slowly,  but  surely, 
crowd  out  the  heart-depressing  tendency  to  dwell  upon  the 
recollection  of  past  sorrow.  It  is  the  old  story  of  Gulliver 
and  the  Liliputians,  told  over  again  and  enriched  with  a 
new  meaning.  Though  the  sorrow  is  a  giant,  and  not  to 


248  SHILOH.- 

be  altogether  expelled;  yet  its  enemies  are  many,  and  by 
weaving  myriads  of  minute  chains  about  it,  they  are  able  to 
keep  it  down.  Kind  thanks  to  the  busy  little  toilers  !  If 
they  have  not  all  been  taken  into  the  Divine  counsels,  they 
must-  in  some  way  derive  their  power  and  efficacy  from  the 
Divine  Beneficence. 

But  what  changes  come  over  us,  as  we  go  on  our  life- 
journey  !  I  remember  when  I  thought  it  would  be  heaven 
to  enjoy,  all  day,  and  never  to  work!  Now  I  am  of  the 
opinion  that  a  higher  heaven  would  be  to  work  all  day, 
and  never  be  tired !  Yet  the  weariness  deepens  and  sweet- 
ens the  rest ! 

There  it  is,  Francesca !  There  seems  to  be  nothing  final 
in  opinion  or  in  feeling.  No  sooner  do  I  come  to  a  conclu- 
sion, you  see,  than  some  little  after-thought  steals  in  to 
modify  it.  No  wonder  brains  that  try  to  solve  life's  prob- 
lems unaided  by  those  two  potent  affirmative  signs,  "  God" 
and  "Trust,"  get  bewildered  and  go  fearfully  astray. 
Without  these,  they  can  never  get  a  final  answer.  What 
they  take  to  be  one,"  soon  turns  out  to  be  the  beginning  of 
a  new  term. 

Since  my  last  jotting-down,  life  has  flowed  very  quietly 
with  me.  Some  few  of  its  ripples,  however,  deserve  charac- 
terization. 

First,  in  order,  if  not  in  importance,  the  tea-drinking  at 
Essie  Volger's  came  off  according  to  appointment.  She 
lives  in  a  large,  white,  maple-shadowed,  open-hearted  look- 
ing mansion ;  somewhat  antiquated  in  point  of  style,  but 
comparatively  modern,  in  point  of  date  ;  yet  old  enough  to 
have  made  its  place  good  in  men's  familiar  knowledge  and 
everyday  interests.  It  differs  from  the  prevailing  Shiloh 
pattern,  chiefly,  in  having  a  portico  in  front  and  in  lacking  a 
lean-to  behind.  Its  outward  expression  is  one  of  dignified, 
yet  not  ungenial,  comfort  and  amplitude ;  and  the  sight  of 
the  interior  only  deepens  it.  The  furniture  is  older  than 
the  house, — Mr.  Volger  having  deep-rooted  prejudices  in 


SHILOH.  249 

favor  of  his  old-time  belongings,  not  to  be  easily  eradicated, 
even  by  the  potent  influence  of  his  only  and  idolized  daugh- 
ter. He  is  a  different  type  of  farmer  from  Mr.  Divine, — less 
genial  in  manner,*  mo  re  reserved  in  speech,  of  a  ruggeder 
texture  both  without  and  within.  The  glance  of  his  eye  is 
keener,  the  grasp  of  his  hand  looser,  than  those  of  my  large- 
hearted  host.  Doubtless,  he  is  shrewder  at  a  bargain,  closer 
in  calculation,  more  astute  of  policy.  Certainly,  his  affairs 
thrive  better.  The  Divine  acres  are  diminishing  in  number, 
year  by  year ;  the  Volger  estate  threatens  to  swallow  an 
entire  district. 

Mr.  Volger's  daughter,  only,  brings  anything  resembling 
an  illumination  to  his  face.  She  is  the  sunshine  of  his  heart, 
as  well  as  of  his  dwelling  and  farm.  Witnessing  the  cheery, 
widely-diffused  influence  of  her  joyous  and  active  tempera- 
ment, one  is  half  persuaded  that  the  corn  grows  and  the 
grass  greens  by  it.  One  moment,  she  is  out  in  the  ten- 
acre  lot,  picking  corn ;  another,  down  by  the  brook,  gather- 
ing wild  iris  ;  the  next,  out  on  the  lake  fishing ;  anon,  bring- 
ing in  wood  from  the  woodpile  ;  then,  in  the  kitchen  con- 
cocting a  favorite  dish  (too  abstruse  to  be  entrusted  to 
Hagar,  the  black  cook) ;  next,  at  the  piano  practising  new 
music  ;  by  and  by,  up  on  the  haymow,  hunting  hen's  nests ; 
soon  after,  in  the  parlor,  entertaining  friends ;  and  finally, 
saddling  or  harnessing  her  dumpy  little  Canadian  pony, 
and  riding  or  driving  off  to  Clay  Corner,  or  "  up  street ;  " 
— nodding,  as  she  goes,  to  every  man,  woman,  child,  negro, 
Irishman,  and  whatever  other  varieties  of  human  nature 
are  to  be  met  with,  on  the  road.  Everybody  knows  her ; 
everybody  smiles  at  sight  of  her;  everybody  who  has  a 
trouble  that  seeks  outlet,  a  difficulty  that  needs  to  be 
talked  over,  a  joke  that  wants  to  be  laughed  at,  a  sorrow 
that  craves  sympathy,  a  message  designed  for  anybody  on 
her  way  (or  even  a  little  out  of  it),  stops  her  on  the  road, 
and  presses  her  remorselessly  into  the  service.  She  brings 
the  mail ;  she  goes  for  the  doctor ;  she  carries  prescriptions 


250  SHILOH. 

to  be  filled  ;  she  delivers  messages  and  parcels ;  she  has  an 
eve  ifter  stray  cattle ;  and  she  gives  every  footsore  travel- 
ler a  lift ;  and  every  ragged,  unwashed  urchin,  playing  at 
marbles  or  mud  pies,  by  the  roadside,  a  ride.  Her  spirits 
are  often  so  vivacious  and  wildly  effervescent  as  to  seem  ut- 
terly careless  of  boundary-lines  :  yet  in  virtue  of  some  in- 
herent sense  of  propriety,  never  step  over  them.  She  is 
not  exactly  lady-like,  in  the  conventional  sense  of  that 
much  abused  term  ;  but  she  is  something  far  more  health- 
ful, efficient,  and  delightful.  She  would  seem  to  have 
been  created  for  some  Arcadian  state  of  society,  where  that 
term  is  as  yet  unknown,  or  that  meaning  still  unfolded. 
Her  exact  type  is  rare  enough,  even  in  New  England ;  I 
doubt  if  it  is  to  be  met  with  elsewhere. 

It  is  manifest  that  she  was  a  charming  hostess.  An 
hour  with  her  checked  off  more  milestones  from  the  jour- 
ney of  acquaintanceship  than  a  day  with  most  people. 
She  soon  put  Alice  more  at  her  ease  than  I  had  ever  seen 
her  (to  be  sure,  they  are  far-away  cousins,  and  fast  friends)  ; 
and  Ruth  quickly  felt,  and  responded  to,  the  frank  cordial- 
ity of  her  manner,  and  the  breezy  vivacity  of  her  spirits. 
Yet  there  was  a  marked  difference  in  the  character  of  their 
mirth ; — Essie's  was  that  of  a  heart  which  had  never  known 
sore  cross  or  heavy  sorrow  ;  Ruth's,  even  in  its  brightest 
flow,  never  lost  some  subtly  pathetic  quality. 

After  tea,  we  rambled  doAvn  to  the  shore  of  the  lake 
aforementioned,  which  bounds  one  side  of  the  farm.  We 
were  guided  thither  by  a  funny  little  brook,  that  prattled 
and  gambolled,  like  a  child,  all  through  the  meadows,  and 
then  tumbled  headlong  down  the  hillside,  in  order  to  fling 
itself,  laughing,  into  the  placid  bosom  of  the  lake,  as  on  to 
a  mother's  breast.  A  light  skiff  lay  by  the  bank  ;  and  Es- 
sie rowed  us  out  into  the  sunset  light,  and  sent  a  merry 
"  Halloo  !  "  over  the  shining  water,  to  wake  an  echo  sleep- 
ing somewhere  among  the  hills.  The  answer  came  back 
soft  and  subdued,  as  if  from  the  lingering  influence  of  a 


SHILOH.  251 

happy  dream ;  and  then  Ruth's  tender,  pathetic  voice 
hushed  ft  to  silence  and  to  sleep  again  with  the  lovely  mel- 
ody of  "  Allan  Water."  In  the  evening,  there  was  music  ; 
and  I  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  Essie  plays  un- 
usually well — as  playing  goes — with  a  smooth,  gliding 
touch,  and  much  taste  and  feeling.  So  well,  indeed,  that 
after  we  had  arrived  at  that  point  of  familiarity  where  it 
ceased  to  be  an  impertinence  (a  point  quickly  reached  with 
her),  I  ventured  to  tell  her  that  it  was  a  sin  and  a  shame 
that  she  did  not  play  even  better ; — that  is  to  say,  a  better 
class  of  music,  with  a  deeper  comprehension  of  musical 
ideas  ;  a  profounder  knowledge  of  the  depths  from  which 
they  come,  and  those  to  which  they  address  themselves. 
This  brought  forth  much  musical  talk,  and  comparison  of 
studies  and  masters, — to  which  Ruth  listened  like  one  en- 
tranced, and  Alice  with  her  usual  quick  insight,  making  her 
lawful  prey  of  analogies  and  metaphors  : — which  resulted 
in  an  agreement  that  we — that  is,  Essie  and  I — should  take 
up  the  practice  of  duets  together,  beginning  with  Beet- 
hoven's symphonies.  By  reason  of  which  tuneful  copart- 
nership, we  have  come  to  be  "  Essie  "  and  "  Winnie  "  to 
each  other. 

We  discussed  the  melodeon,  too,  and — to  cut  that  mat- 
ter short — it  is  now  doing  its  best  to  engender  and  pro- 
mote harmony  in  that  little  loft  of  a  gallery  at  St.  Jude's, 
under  Essie's  skilful  fingers.  She  entreated  me,  humbly 
and  earnestly,  to  play  it ;  but  I  steadily  declined,  mindful 
of  Bona's  emphatic  discourse  on  that  head.  Her  musical 
ability  was  amply  sufficient  for  the  need,  and  there  was  no 
excuse  for  me  to  thrust  myself  into  the  matter ;  and  so  de- 
prive both  the  parish  and  herself  of  the  benefit  of  whatever 
increase  of  interest  or  of  energy  might  be  developed  in  her, 
by  the  position.  I  attend  the  rehearsals,  however,  by  re- 
quest ;  and  am  made,  by  tacit  concurrence,  a  sort  of  musi- 
cal director. 

Next,  there  has  been  an  arrival  of  uncommon  interest 


252  SHILOH. 

in  Shiloh ;  causing  something  more  than  the  usual  ripple  of 
interest  and  talk  consequent  on  the  advent  of  a  stranger, 
in  a  community  so  small,  so  remote,  and  so  largely  made 
up  of  life-long  residents, — the  fabric  of  whose  daily  lives, 
moreover,  is  woven  of  threads  too  even  and  too  sober- 
tinted  to  allow  of  many  home-made  excitements.  The  new- 
comer is  an  artist,  with  the  peculiar,  though  indefinable 
air  of  his  'class  about  him  ;  and  but  recently  returned  to 
his  fatherland,  after  an  absence  of  some  years  spent  chiefly 
at  Rome  in  the  study  and  exercise  of  his  art.  He  first 
came  hither  in  company  with  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Danforth, 
for  a  day's  fishing ;  but  he  was  so  charmed  with  Shiloh's 
quietude,  freshness  and  isolation, — in  short,  with  its  exces- 
sive ruralness, — that  he  forthwith  looked  up  a  boarding- 
place  for  himself  and  his  easel,  established  the  twain  there- 
in, and  is  said  to  divide  his  time  about  equally  between 
painting  and  rambling  over  the  country. 

I  have  met  him  but  once.  A  few  evenings  ago,  I  found 
him  seated  in  Mrs.  Danforth's  moonlighted  «porch,  listening 
to  the  fluent,  sparkling  talk  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion  ; 
who  at  once  presented  to  me,  "  Mr.  Cambur."  The  moon- 
light revealed  distinctly  enough — albeit,  it  here  whitened 
them  into  marble,  and  there  darkened  them  with  deeper 
shadows  than  ever  daylight  gives — features  clearly  and 
finely  cut ; — a  wide  brow,  deep-set  eyes,  a  straight  nose, 
and  a  mouth  apparently  capable  of  much  and  varied  ex- 
pression, though  thickly  veiled  by  a  brown  beard. 

The  talk  soon  turned  toward  Italy  ;  and  as  I  listened  to 
the  artist's  fresh,  animated  narrations,  awaking  and  bright- 
ening my  own  fond  reminiscences  of  that  pleasant  land,  I 
seemed  to  be  there  once  more ;  a  part  of  its  vai'ied,  pictur- 
esque life  ;  breathing  the  ethereal  gold  of  its  sunshine,  and 
soothed  by  the  kindly  balm  of  its  air.  His  enthusiasm  cul- 
minated in  the  exclamation, — 

"  Surely,  no  one  who  has  lived  for  any  length  of  time 
in  Italy,  and  felt  the  charm  of  its  sky  and  its  atmosphere, 


SHILOH.  253 

and  the  loving-kindness  of  its  earth,  need  count  himself 
homeless,  though  some  tremendous  catastrophe  should 
sweep  every  other  country  from  the  face  of  the  globe !  " 
"  You  are  talking  nonsense,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Danforth,  with 
her  characteristic  frankness ;  yet  accompanying  the  words 
with  a  gesture  that  divested  them  of  any  appearance  of 
discourtesy.  "  It  is  all  very  well  for  artists  and  poets  who 
make  their  living  out  of  the  picturesque,  to  rave  about  It- 
aly. But  for  people  of  sober  minds  and  pursuits,  with  so- 
ber predilections  for  cleanliness  and  comfort,  any  American 
home, — even^this  hideous,  square,  white  pine-box  over  our 
heads ! — is  vastly  to  be  pi-eferred  to  those  shiftless,  dingy 
Italian  farm-houses,  or  great,  grand,  cheerless  Roman  paW 
aces.  To  my  taste,  age  is  no  recommendation  in  a  house. 
I  don't  want  to  spend  my  life  in  scrubbing  off  my  great- 
grandfather's smoke  and  dust,  mould  and  grime ;  nor  in 
fighting  the  rats,  mice,  moths,  roaches,  and  other  vermin 
he  congregated  under  his  roof;  any  more  than  I  want  to 
wear  his  shoes  and  his  periwig,  or  set  up  his  skeleton  in  my 
dining-room.  On  the  contrary,  I  should  like  a  new  house, 
newly  furnished,  once  in  five  years.  And  as  for  the  his- 
toric associations  upon  which  you  lay  such  stress,  they  used 
to  make  me  feel  as  if  the  air  in  Rome  was  a  great  deal  too 
thick  and  heavy  to  breathe  ;  it  had  been  used  over  so  many 
times  since  the  days  of  the  Caesars  as  to  seem  to  have  no 
healthful  property  left !  I  hope  it  will  be  a  long  time  be- 
fore our  new,  fresh,  vigorous  country  shows  any  of  that 
sort  of  picturesqueness  that  you  artists  love  so  Avell ; — 
made  up  of  one  part,  age ;  two  parts,  decay  ;  three  parts 
dirt  !  " 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Mr.  Cambur,  heartily.  "  Beautiful  as 
Italy  surely  is,  I  do  not  want  to  see  her  features  or  her  life 
duplicated  here.  Our  country  has  her  own  genius,  mission, 
destiny  ;  let  her  work  them  out  in  her  own  way  !  " 

As  the  talk  went  on,  I  found  that  he  knew  many  of  the 
artists  who  most  frequented  my  father's  study,  in  Rome, 


254:  SHILOH. 

and  could  give  me  their  subsequent  history ; — so  many,  in- 
deed, that  I  began  to  wonder  that  I  had  never  encoun- 
tered nor  heard  of  himself,  while  there. 

"  You  would  not  remember  me  if  you  had,"  he  replied. 
"  Reflect  that  the  later  years  of  your  stay  in  Rome  were 
the  earlier  ones  of  mine ;  and  .that  I  was  but  a  beginner  in 
Art,  worshipping  both  her  works  and  her  workers  humbly 
and  afar-off.  To  be  sure,  I  am  little  more  than  that, 
now: — I  will  venture  to  say  that  the  name  of  Gambia- 
is  so  strange  to  the  trumpet  of  Fame  as  never  to  have 
reached  your  ears,"  and  he  ended  with  a  peculiar,  mean- 
ing glance  at  Mrs.  Danforth. 

"  If  it  has  not,"  said  she,  laughing,  and  returning  the 
glance  with  one  equally  expressive, — "  I  am  sure  Miss  Frost 
will  say,  after  she  has  seen  your  pictures,  that  it  is  Fame's 
own  fault.  I  shall  bring  her  to  your  studio  some  day,  and 
you  must  show  her  '  Dreams.' " 

"  With  great  pleasure,"  he  replied,  bowing.  "  Only, 
let  me  suggest  that  the  said  '  some  day '  does  not  arrive 
until  next  week.  I  am  expecting  a  box  of  pictures,  art- 
curiosities,  etcetera,  shortly ;  then,  my  studio  will  be  in  bet- 
ter order  for  the  reception  of  such  visitors,  and  I  shall  have 
more  to  show  you." 

"  Too  much,  I  suspect,"  said  I.  "  In  looking  at  pictures, 
I  am  always  troubled  because  I  am  asked  to  look  at  too 
many ;  and  expected  to  begin  to  comment  as  soon  as  I  be- 
gin to  look.  Whereas,  when  I  find  a  picture  that  I  like, 
that  suits  my  mood,  that  has  anything  at  all  to  say  to  me, 
I  want  to  sit  down  silent  before  it  for  an  hour.  And  I  do 
not  want  to  look  at  anything  else,  till  next  day !  " 

"  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  look  at  my  pictures  in 
just  your  own  way,"  said  he  smiling ; — "  at  least,  so  far  as 
I  am  concerned." 

"And  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  not!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Danforth,  with  humorous  earnestness, — "  that  is,  if  I 
am  your  companion." 


SHILOH.  255 

Throughout  the  conversation,  I  was  tantalized  by  one 
of  those  strange  memories  or  resemblances, — I  could  not 
tell  which, — at  once  so  pertinacious  and  so  elusive.  Some- 
thing in  Mr.  Cambur's  face,  or  voice,  or  manner,  had  a  curi- 
ous familiarity  in  unfamiliarity,  for  which  I  could  not 
account.  I  took  my  leave  without  finding  any  clue  to 
it,  and  was  haunted  and  perplexed  by  it  half  the  way 
home. 

Moreover,  Mrs.  Taylor  arrived  duly ;  and  the  Divine 
household,  including  Winnie  Frost,  did  itself*the  honor  to 
wait  upon  her  very  soon.  A  blithe,  active,  black-eyed  little 
woman  ;  fresh  and  naive  in  many  of  her  A\rays  as  a  child ; 
yet  with  a  sufficient  fund  of  wholesome  common  sense  about 
her — an  excellent  addition  to  the  joint  stock.  She  straight- 
way individualized  her  home  by  a  few  careless  touches,  and 
interfused  into  its  atmosphere  some  new  and  delightful 
quality ;  as  if  she  had  brought  a  trunkful  of  sunbeams,  or 
a  few  boxes  of  mountain  dew,  and  flung  them  around  at 
random.  She  is,  plainly,  the  delight  of  Mr.  Taylor's  eye, 
and  the  joy  of  his  heart, — as  plainly,  she  is  the  balance- 
wheel  of  the  domestic  and  conjugal  machinery ;  after  her 
advent,  I  felt  more  at  ease  about  his  future  career  in  Shiloh. 
With  so  wise  a  counsellor  and  so  ready  a  sympathy  at  his 
hearthstone,  I  fancied  that  his  chances  of  daily  contact  with 
wayside  thorns  would  be  considerably  diminished,  and  his 
certainty  of  daily  cure  very  much  increased. 

The  character  of  the  twain  may  be  further  elucidated 
by  an  anecdote  that  went  roaming  about  Shiloh,  soon  after 
their  housekeeping  commenced;  eliciting  much  laughter; 
which,  nevertheless,  was  often  curiously  entangled  with  a 
tear.  It  arranges  itself,  almost  inevitably,  in  the  dramatic 
style. 

SCENE.  A.  chamber  in  the  G-wynne  Place.  Time. — 
Sunday  Morning.  MRS.  TAYLOB,  sola,  with  a  bandbox  be- 
fore her. 

MRS.  T.  Why !  what  can  have  become  of  my  bonnet  ? 


256  SHILOH. 

I  certainly  put  it  here.     (Rummages  in  closet  and  bureau.} 
Not  to  be  found  ftnywhere  !  what  does  it  mean  ? 

Enter  MR.  TAYLOR. 

MB.  T.  Why,  my  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ? 

MBS.  T.  I  can't  find  my  bonnet — my  best  bonnet, — I 
have  looked  everywhere.  It  must  have  been  stolen.  I 
thought  you  said  thieves  were  unknown  in  Shiloh. 

MB.  T.  (with  the  air  of  one  well  pleased  to  be  able  to  give 
a  satisfactory,  explanation).  Oh  !  is  that  it  ?  I  quite  forgot 
to  tell  you — I  gave  it  away. 

MBS.  T.  Gave  it  away ! 

ME.  T.  Yes,  dear, — to  that  poor  Mrs.  Simmons,  whose 
husband  was  buried  last  Wednesday,  over  at  Fox  Swamp. 
She  said  she  had  no  bonnet  to  wear  to  the  funeral,  and  she 
did -not  know  how,  nor  where,  to  get  one;  it  really  was  a 
sorrowful  case.  So.  I  thought  how  fortunate  it  was  that 
you  were  in  mourning,  and  I  came  home  and  got  yours, — 
you  were  gone  up  to  Mrs.  Divine's  to  tea  that  afternoon, 
you  know.  I  meant  to  haye  told  you,  of  course  ;  but,  I  de- 
clare !  I  forgot  all  about  it. 

MBS.  T.  (cheerily}.  Well,  never  mind,  she  is  welcome. 
I  only  wish  it  had  been  my  second  best ;  I  think  that  would 
have  answered  for  Mrs.  Simmons  very  well ;  it  would  cer- 
tainly have  corresponded  better  with  the  rest  of  her  ap- 
parel. But  I  must  make  it  do  for  the  remainder  of  the 
summer. 

MB.  T.  (hesitating).  I — I — really  am  afraid  I  gave  that 
away,  too.  To  Mrs.  Simmon's  sister, — you  see,  one  needed 
a  bonnet  as  much  as  the  other !  And  I  thought  you  would 
have  time  to  make  another  before  Sunday, — you  make  bon- 
nets so  easily,  out  of  almost  nothing — 

MBS.  T.  (parenthetically).  Sometimes  it  is  difficult  to  get 
the  "  almost,"  though  ! 

MB.  T.  (continuing).  But  what  a  memory  I  have  !  I 
ought  to  have  told  you,  of  course.  I  am  so  sorry  ! 


SHILOH.  '257 

MRS.  T.  (rather  constrainedly).  May  I  ask  what  else  of 
mine  you  gave  away  ? 

MR.  T.  (pathetically).  Do  not  speak  in  that  way,  my 
dear,  or  I  shall  Avish  there  never  was  such  a  thing  as  a  bon- 
net !  I  gave  nothing  else  away,  of  course,  nothing.  Ex- 
cept— ah  !  yes,  one  of  your  veils, — I  think  it  was  the  second- 
best,  this  time.  I  remembered  that  you  could  not  make 
veils  so  easily  as  bonnets,  my  dear. 

MES.  T.  Thank  you  for  your  consideration  !  ( Then  sink- 
ing into  a  chair  and  laughing  hysterically).  It  is  too  good 
a  joke  !  I  haven't  a  bonnet  to  wear  to  church,  except  my 
sun-bonnet !  Would  you  advise  me  to  wear  that,  or  stay 
at  home  ?  ,  . 

MR.  T.  (seeming  not  to  see  the  point  of  the  joke,  but, 
apparently,  beginning  to  perceive  something,  more  to  the 
point}.  I  declare !  It  is  too  bad !  Strange  that  I  should 
have  forgotten  it  so  entirely  !  I  promise  you,  my  dear, 
that  I  never  will  touch  anything  of  yours  again,  without 
asking  you  first !  Upon  honor  !  ' 

MRS.  T.  (wiping  her  eyes  and  choking  down  her  laugh- 
ter). Thank  you,  dear.  That  would  be  the  better  arrange- 
ment, I  think.  But  never  mind,  this  time.  I  will  run  up 
to  Mrs.  Prescott — "  acrost  lots  " — and  see  if  I  cannot  bor- 
row a  bonnet  of  her,  for  to-day. 

FIXALE.  Mrs.  Taylor  appears  at  church  in  Mrs.  Pres- 
cottfs  second-best  bonnet,  and  looks  as  if  she  had  donned 
her  grandmother's  head-gear,  by  mistake. 

At  present,  however,  "  our  little  minister's  wife," 
(which,  in  Shiloh  parlance,  is  synonomous  with  "  our  min- 
ister's little  wife,")  cannot  t>e  expected  to  take  any  active, 
regular  part  in  parish  work ; — even  the  most  exacting  of 
the  parishioners  admit  that.  The  absorbing  and  never- 
ending  business  known,  hereabout,  as  "  doing  your  own 
work  ;  "  added  to  the  care  of  a  great,  fat,  roly-poly  baby, 
nearly  as  large  as  herself ;  furnishes  employment  for  most 
of  Mrs.  Taylor's  energies  within  her  own  immediate 


258  SHILOH. 

sphere.  Yet  scarcely  the  less  is  the  influence  of  her 
bright,  cheerful  spirit,  her  active  good-will,  her  warm  in- 
terest and  sympathy,  her  inherent  tact,  felt  as  a  power  in 
the  parish.  And  the  little  she  is  able  to  do  in  Sunday 
School  and  Sewing  Society,  is  doubly  appreciated ;  because 
it  is  something  more  than  is  hoped  for,  instead  of  some- 
thing less  than  is  Expected. 

It  would  be  unpardonable  were  I  to  omit  to  state,  in 
this  connection,  that  Mr.  Taylor  has  already  experienced 
the  benefit  of  his  introduction  to  Leo.  Every  morning, 
before  breakfast, 'a  scratch  is  heard  at  the  kitchen  door  of 
the  Gwynne  Place.  Being  opened,  Leo  enters  majestically, 
delivers  a  pail  of  new,  warm  milk  toJYlrs.  Taylor,  and  gra- 
ciously offers  a  paw  to  her  husband.  Then,  he  goes 
straight  to  the  cradle  and  puts  his  nose  in  the  baby's 
face.  She  catches  hold  of  it  with  avidity,  pokes  her  tiny 
fingers  into  his  eyes,  doubles  up  her  fists  and  rains  puny 
blows  upon  his  great  head,  pulls  his  long  ears,  kicks  up  her 
chubby  feet,  and  coos  and  crows  at  him  in  an  ecstasy  of  in- 
fantine delight.  Never  is  Leo  so  softly  benign  of  aspect 
as  in  these  moments.  He  lays  aside  his  stateliness  as  a 
garment ;  his  bushy  tail  swings  gently  from  side  to  side  ; 
his  eyes  smile  ;  there  is  something  deeply  tender,  even  to 
pathos,  in  his  look.  Plainly,  that  innocent  baby-face  stirs 
his  large,  loving  heart  to  its  depths. 

He  is  loth  to  leave  his  small  friend,  when  Mrs.  Taylor 
comes  with  the  empty  pail ;  and  his  distress  is  augmented 
by  the  fact  that  she  sets  up  a  shrill  scream  of  protest  as  he 
turns  away.  Nevertheless,  obedient  to  the  call  of  duty, 
he  takes  the  pail  in  his  mouth  and  trots  briskly  home- 
ward. 

Parish  matters,  in  general,  flow  with  tolerable  smooth- 
ness, so  far  ;  though  there  are  growing  indications  of  a  crit- 
ical and  unfriendly  spirit  in  the  Burcham  quarter.  Mr.  Tay- 
lor's foibles — and  they  are  numerous — get  small  considera- 
tion at  their  hands.  Theirs  are  not  the  minds  to  discern 


SHILOH.  259 

the  true  proportion  of  good  in  a  chai-acter  like  his,  nor  to 
realize  how  very  small  a  part  of  him  it  is  that  is  heavy  with 
the  soil  and  the  weakness  of  the  flesh,  and  trails  in  the  dust, 
of  the  world.  It  is  far  easier  to  discern  the  spots  in  the  sun's 
disc,  than  to  estimate  the  good  done  by  his  light ;  less  diffi- 
cult to  point  out  some  spot  where  his  rays  do  not  penetrate 
than  to  number  the  myriads  of  animate  and  inanimate 
things  that  are  cheered  and  vitalized  by  their  influence. 
Still,  I  do  not  expect  any  worse  trouble  from  this  faction 
than  a  continual,  irritating  friction  ; — chiefly,  it  must  be 
acknowledged,  because  its  interest  in  Church  affairs  is  not 
so  strong,  nor  so  sensitive,  as  to  urge  it  into  any  violent' 
quarrel  in  their  behalf! 

At  large,  the .  little  stir  of  life  and  interest  caused  by 
Mr.  Taylor's  advent,  newness,  and  energy,  is  fast  settling 
back  into  the  old,  sluggish  quietude.  Mrs.  Prescott,  to  be 
sure,  works  on  with  unflagging  zeal,  and  is,  unquestionably, 
the  salt  of  the  parish  ;  without  whom,  there  would  be  a  dire 
dearth  of  that  active  and  preservative  substance.  At  present, 
she  is  going  about  armed  with  a  subscription  paper  designed 
to  raise  funds  for  painting,  papering,  and  otherwise  improv- 
ing the  little  church  on  the  hill ;  which  seems  to  have  so 
thoroughly  engrossed  the  major  part  of  her  thoughts  and 
affections.  She  has  even  pressed  me  into  the  service,  aver- 
ring that  there  are  hearts  (or  pockets)  hereabouts,  which 
will  open  more  readily  to  the  knock  of  a  comparative 
stranger,  with  the  indefinable,  but  easily  recognized  air  of 
the  city  about  her,  than  to  her  own  sharp,  well-known  rap. 
So, — in  the  rattling  and  rusty,  but  still  strong  and  hearty, 
Divine  wagon, — upon  an  odd,  cumbrous,  movable  seat,  de- 
nominated a  "  chair," — drawn  by  the  fat,  sleek,  staid  horse 
accounted  safe  for  "  woman-driving,"  and  which  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott complains  of  as  much  too  safe,  even  to  the  point  of  in- 
tolerable laziness  ; — we  drive  round  the  country,  stopping 
here  and  there  to  tell  over  again  the  story  that  we  have 
told  so  many  times  before,  as  to  have  exhausted  invention 


260  SHILOH. 

in  trying  to  vary  it ;  and  receiving  fifty  cents,  or  it  may  be 
a  dollar,  by  way  of  liberal  response.  In  some  places,  we 
get,  in  addition,  much  good  will,  pressing  invitations  to 
take  refreshment,  and  whatever  amount  of  gossip  we  have 
time  to  listen  to  ;  in  others,  the  understood  fare  of  beggars 
— few  words,  cold  looks,  and  scant  courtesy. 

But  now,  I  really  have  something  to  tell  you  !  To 
think  that  here — of  all  places  in  the  world  ! — when  I 
thought  I  had  left  the  little,  blind  god,  with  all  his  belong- 
ings, forever  behind  ! — But  I  will  not,  as  the  Shilohites  say, 
"  get  ahead  of  my  story." 

One  bright  morning,  a  week  ago,  Mrs.  Divine's  voice 
came  up  the  staircase, 

"  Some  one  to  see  you,  Miss  Frost." 

I  descended  to  the  kitchen,  and  at  the  fai'ther  end — 
which  serves  as  a  sort  of  reception  room — I  found  a  slight, 
pale,  gentle-looking  girl,  awaiting  me. 

"  Miss  Carrie  Thome — a  niece  of  Miss  Caroline  Bryer's," 
said  Mrs.  Divine,  seeing  me  look  inquiringly  at  my  visitor, 
who  was  quite  unknown  to  me. 

"  Ah  !  I  am  glad  to  meet  her.  Is  your  aunt  well,  Miss 
Thorne  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you."  And,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
she  added ;  "  Mother  sends  her  compliments  to  you,  Miss 
Frost,  and  would  like  the  pleasure  of  your  company  to  tea 
this  afternoon." 

I  was  so  taken  by  surprise  that  I  had  said,  "  Yes,  cer- 
tainly,— thank  you,"  before  I  was  at  all  conscious  what  I 
was  about.  The  invitation  'was  so  unexpected,  the 
"  mother  "  such  a  very  unknown  quantity,  the  messenger 
so  quietly  prepossessing,  the  whole  thing  so  unprecedented  ! 
If  I  had  happened  to  have  noticed  the  expression  of  Mrs. 
Divine's  face,  I  should  probably  have  given  a  different  an- 
swer. She  now  asked,  in  a  tone  that  instantly  drew  my 
attention ; — 

"  Is  your  mother  expecting  other  company,  Carrie  ?  " 


SHILOIT.  261 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am.  Only  "  (and  she  spoke  as  if  from  the 
fulness  of  delight)  "  Rick  is  coming  up." 

"  O — h  !  "  said  Mrs.  Divine,  prolongedly.  "  Is  he  going 
to  stay  long  ?  " 

"  Only  until  to-morrow.  He  will  drive  up  from  Haven- 
ton  to-day,  and  back  to-morrow  morning.  I  will  tell 
mother  you  are  coming,  Miss  Frost — thank  you."  And 
Carrie  Thorne  departed. 

Mrs.  Divine  and  I  remained  looking  at  each  other  in 
silence,  until  the  sound  of  her  light  footsteps  died  away. 
Then  she  burst  into  a  laugh — a  laiigh  with  something  more 
than  merriment  in  it. 

"  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  invitation,  Miss  Frost  !  I  hope 
you'll  spend  a  very  pleasant  afternoon  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Divine,  what  does  it  all  mean  ?  Who  is  this 
'  mother  '  ?  " 

"Who?  Mrs.  Thorne?  She  is  Caroline  Bryer's 
sister." 

"  Well,  what  else  ?     I  see  there  is  something  behind." 

But  Mrs.  Divine's  tongue — which  generally  runs  over 
the  catalogue  of  her  neighbors'  virtues  and  foibles  readily 
enough,  and  deals  out  their  family  history  with  most  un- 
reserved, yet  not  unkindly,  veracity — now  seemed  glued  to 
her  mouth. 

"  Well !  "  said  she,  at  last, "  I  can  talk  fast  enough  about 
my  neighbors,  when  I  know  them  well,  and  am  sure  I  shan't 
make  mistakes.  But  I  don't  know  Mrs.  Thorne  well,  and 
I  might  give  you  wrong  impressions.  To  tell  the  truth, 
the  Bryers  are  a  queer  family,  take  them  all  in  all — though 
Caroline  is  as  nice  a  person  as  you'll  find  anywhere  ;  and 
any  one  can  see  that  there's  no  harm  in  that  little  Carrie, 
that's  just  gone  from  here.  Her  mother's  a  widow,  and 
has  lately  come  home  to  live.  She  isn't  one  of  our  sort, 
nor  one  of  your  sort,  either,  Miss  Frost." 

"  What  sort  is  she,  then  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say.     If  you  go  up  there,  you  can  find  out  for 


262  SHILOH. 

yourself.  I  reckon  you're  capable  of  taking  her  measure, 
without  any  help." 

"  I  cannot  .conceive,"  said  I,  in  a  tone  of  vexation, 
"  what  made  me  accept  the  invitation  !  Only  there  was 
something  so  winning  in  that  pale  girl's  face  and  voice, 
that  it  made  me  forget  everything  else.  But  I  can  send  an 
excuse." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  go,  by  all  means,"  returned  Mrs.  Divine. 
"  You  like  to  study  human  nature,  and  there's  several  sorts 
up  there.  There's  two  idiots — a  man  and  a  woman  to  be- 
gin with." 

"  Yes,"  interposed  Mrs.  Prescott,  who  had  entered,  and 
found  out  the  subject  of  our  discourse,  "  I  can  tell  you 
something  rather  funny  about  that.  The  Bryers  first  came 
to  Shiloh  when  I  and  my  sister  Susan  were  young  girls  ; 
and  we  heard,  in  some  roundabout  way,  that  there  were 
two  unmarried  sons  in  the  family.  So  we  joked  each  other 
about  them,  as  girls  will,  declaring  that  we  should  set  our 
caps  for  them,  and  win  them  for  husbands.  Well,  the  eld- 
est one  came  first — Mortimer, — you'll  see  him  there,  Avith 
his  hair  all  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  head  hanging  down, 
and  as  silent  as  a  gravestone, — he  hasn't  altered  much,  only 
that  he's  grown  old.  So  I  said  to  Susan,  '  You  can  take 
that  one,  Sue,  he"  don't  suit  me ;  I'll  wait  for  the  next.' 
And  when  the  next  one  came,  'twas  the  idiot !  " 


while  I 
The 


AMONG   THE    BEYERS    AND   THORNES. 

SET  forth  for  the  Bryer  Farm  in  the  dreamy 
hush  of  a  warm  summer  afternoon.     The  breeze 
had  swooned  away  in  the  tree-tops,  and  gave  no 
sign   of  reviving   life.      The   shade   was   not   a 
"  broad  contiguity,"  but  an  irregular  succession 
of  dark,  isolated  patches  on  the  arid  and  dusty 
higliAvay.     I  was  fain,  therefore,  to  pause  for  a 
moment  at  the  farm  gateway,  and  take  breath, 
reconnoitered  the  premises. 

house  stood  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
road,  in  the  midst  of  a  verdant  mosaic  of  meadow,  orchard, 
and  cornfield.  Originally  it  had  been  of  the  better  sort  of 
farm-houses  ;  and  its  white,  expansive  front  must  have  been 
a  pleasant  sight,  seen  through  the  green  vista  of  a  long 
avenue  of  maples  and  beeches,  leading  up  to  the  vine- 
wreathed  porch.  But  both  the  house  and  its  surroundings 
had  plainly  fallen  an  easy  prey  to  Time's  omnivorous  tooth. 
Its  original  white  was  merged  into  a  dingy  gray;  its 
shingled  roof  and  sides  were  loose,  warped,  and  weathcr- 
gnawn ;  and  the  missing  base  of  one  of  the  pillars  of  the 
portico  had  been  replaced  by  a  rough  section  of  a  log,  with 
the  bark  still  on.  The  avenue  had  become  a  grass-grown 
lane,  through  which  a  brown  thread  of  footpath  went  wan- 
dering in  a  vague,  aimless  way,  and  seemed  to  owe  its  final 
arrival  at  the  cracked  door-stone  chiefly  to  the  agency  of 


204  SHILOH. 

some  happy  chance.  This  lane  was  bordered  on  one  side 
by  a  row  of  scrubby  quince  trees  ;  on  the  other  by  a  long 
line  of  crumbling  stumps,  among  which  three  or  four  grey, 
decrepit  maples  stood  disconsolately,  unable  to  close  up 
their  ranks  over  their  fallen  comrades,  and  waiting,  dumb 
and  lonely,  for  their  own  stroke  of  doom.  The  fences  were 
either  falling  down  or  rudely  patched ;  and  the  gate  whereat 
I  stood  had  the  look  of  an  "exhausted  sentinel  keeping 
watch  over  the  brief  bivouac  of  a  defeated,  wasted,  and 
flying  army. 

Houses  often  have  as  distinct  and  individual  an  expres- 
sion as  faces  of  men.  In  this  one,  I  soon  discovered  a  quaint, 
curious  resemblance  to  the  only  one  "of  its  inmates  with 
whom  I  was  tolerably  well  acquainted — Miss  Caroline 
Bryer.  Like  that  gaunt,  antiquated  virgin,  with  her  air 
of  decayed  gentility,  her  manner  of  antique  stateliness,  and 
her  cherished  remembrances  of  bygone  prosperity  and  dis- 
tinction, the  shabby  old  dwelling  seemed  to  be  inwardly 
pluming  itself  upon  obsolete  glories,  and  to  be  trying  to 
keep  itself  alive  upon  the  insufficient  nutriment  of  aristo- 
cratic reminiscences. 

I  was  somewhat  dismayed  to  find,  upon  examination, 
that  my  choice  of  entrance  upon  the  scene  lay  between 
climbing  a  stone  wall  and  opening  the  aforesaid  gate, — 
designed,  it  would  appear,  for  the  admission  of  carts  arid 
wagons,  rather  than  for  the  use  of  the  human  species,  and 
in  such  a  dilapidated  condition  that  it  was  probable  it  would 
fall  to  pieces  at  an  unaccustomed  and  \inskilful  touch.  But 
if  there  had  ever  been  a  smaller  and  more  manageable  one, 
— as  a  certain  irregularity  in  the  stone  wall  seemed  to  indi- 
cate,— it  had  vanished  long  ago,  and  left  not  a  wrack  be- 
hind. I  was  relieved  from  the  dilemma,  however,  by  the 
opportune  appearance  of  the  face  and  bust  of  Carrie  Thorne, 
in  the  open  upper  half  of  the  front  door ;  looking,  for  the 
moment  that  she  stood  there,  framed  in  vine-leaves  and 
thrown  out  into  strong  relief  from  the  dark  background  of 


SIIILOH.  265 

the  interior,  as  if  some  lovely  ancestral  portrait  had  de- 
scended from,  the  walls  and  hurried  to  the  threshold  to  bid 
me  welcome.  She  waved  her  hand  in  token  of  speedy  help, 
ran  swiftly  down  the  lane,  wrought  the  incredible  miracle 
of  causing  that  crazy  gate  to  revolve  upon  its  rusty  hinges 
without  burying  us  both  in  its  ruins,  and  led  the  way  back 
to  the  house. 

A  very  different  picture  now  filled  the  doorway — the 
full-length  figure  of  Miss  Bryer  herself,  clad  in  old-fashioned 
garments  of  rusty  black,  and  with  a  general  air  of  rustiness 
about  her — rustiness  of  joints,  of  voice,  of  manner,  of  garb 
— in  admirable  keeping  with  the  rusty  old  roof  over  her 
head.  Yet  let  me  not  be  understood  to  say  one  disrespect- 
ful word  of  the  mild,  stately,  decayed  gentlewoman;  the 
story  of  whose  life,  if  fully  and  rightly  told,  would  put  to 
the  blush  myriads  of  lives  that  are  lovelier  to  outward 
view.  Wealth  and  position  slipped  early  from  her  grasp. 
Idiocy  put  its  woful  mark  upon  the  younger  members  of 
her  family.  Human  love  lingered  for  a  moment  at  her  side, 
and  then  passed  on  neglectful.  Joy  waved  her  a  careless 
adieu ;  disappointment  met  her  with  a  mocking  salutation. 
Death  made  her  motherless.  Despair  cast  her  down  and 
ti%od  her  under  foot.  Then  Duty  came  to  her  side,  and 
whispered  solemnly  in  her  ear.  Necessity  raised  her  up, 
and  sternly  bade  her  move  on.  Care  fastened  its  burden  to 
her  back.  Quietly  she  gathered  up  the  scattered  fragments 
of  her  life  and  love,  heaped  them  on  the  hearthstone  of  her 
heart,  and  kindled  them  into  blaze  and  warmth  for  the 
narrow,  stinted  lives  of  her  infirm,  irritable,  exacting  father 
and  her  imbecile  brother  and  sister.  By  that  quiet  fireside 
these  poor  paupers  of  existence  find  ever  undisputed  room, 
and  steady,  if  not  vivid,  glow.  We  will  trust  that,  while 
only  intent  upon  their  comfort,  her  own  self-denying  spirit 
fails  not  to  catch  some  soft,  reflected  light,  some  healing 
warmth. 

She  gave  me  a  characteristic  greeting ;  kind  without  verg- 
12 


266  sniLon. 

ing  upon  cordiality,  ceremonious  without  being  cold.  Behind 
her  stood  the  two  half-wits, — one  with  a  gaping,  staring, 
vacant  face;  the  other  silly,  simpering,  shuffling,  restless. 
Both  were  past  youth ;  neither  would  ever  seem  to  be 
really  old.  Complete  childishness  of  expression  neutral- 
ized the  effects  of  gray  streaks  in  the  hair,  and  wrinkles 
creeping  into  the  face.  They  were  scarcely  less  children 
now,  after  the  lapse  of  forty  or  fifty  years,  than  when  they 
first  opened  their  eyes  upon  the  earth.  For  them,  neither 
sorrow,  ciime,  care,  or  responsibility,  exist.  Yet  it  goes, 
far  to  vindicate  the  course  of  God's  providence  in  this 
world,  and  to  reconcile  us  to  the  ministry  of  griefs  and 
trials,  to  feel  that  none  of  us,  whatever  our  lack  or  our 
burden,  "would  willingly  change  places  with  them. 

It  was  evident  that  these  irresponsible  old  children  were 
kindly  cared  for ;  their  gannents  were  clean,  though  plain, 
their  persons  in  perfect  order.  Miss  Bryer  introduced  them 
wTith  a  slight  wave  of  her  hand,  and  a  melancholy,  depre- 
cating tone  of  voice —  "  Betsey  and  Simeon,  my  poor  sister 
and  brother."  Obviously,  she  -was  nervous  about  the  im- 
pression they  might  produce  upon  a  stranger,  but  she  was 
too  kind-hearted  to  rob'  them  of  their  childish  gratification 
in  the  sight  of  a  new  face,  or  to  interrupt  their  settled  habit 
of  following  her  about  the  house,  like  her  shadow. 

Then  she  opened  the  door  into  a  large,  dim  parlor. 
"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  our  poor  old  house,  Miss  Frost," 
she  said,  with  a  half  sigh,  as  she  placed  me  a  chair.  "  It  is 
not  what  it  was  once,  neither  are  we, — the  house  and  the 
family  have  gone  down  hill  together, — but  if  you  can  put 
up  with  such  entertainment  as  we  can  give  you,  you  are 
very  welcome.  Sit  down  a  bit ;  I  suppose  Eliza  is  expect- 
ing you  to  come  right  to  her  room,  but  you  have  had  a 
warm  walk  in  the  sun,  and  you  had  better  rest  a  little  and 
cool  yourself  off  before  you  go  up." 

"  Cool  yourself  off  before  you  go  up  " — "  before  you  go 
up,"  repeated  the  two  idiots,  one  after  the  other,  in  such 


SHILOH.  267 

manner  as  to  give  the  exact  effect  of  a  double  echo  of  Miss 
Bryer's  words. 

The  unexpected  iteration  startled  and  confused  me  to 
such  a  degree,  that  it  was  not  until  after  the  lapse  of  a 
moment  or  two  that  I  bethought  myself  of  the  necessity  of 
making  my  hostess  some  reply. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said,  struggling  to  seem  unobservant 
and  at  ease.  "  I  did  find  it  rather  warm  walking  in  the 
sun — even  for  me,  and  I  am  accounted  among  my  friends  a 
sort  of  salamander." 

"  Count  among  my  friends  a  sort  of  Sally  Amanda  " — 
"  sort  of  Sally  Amanda,"  echoed  the  half-wits,  catching  up  my 
phrase,  and  inevitably  travestying  it ;  since  it  did  not  hap. 
pen  to  come  within  the  limited  scope  of  their  comprehension. 

I  gave  an  irrepressible  start,  and  for  a  moment  could 
not  conceal  my  discomposure.  It  had  not  occurred  to  me 
that  the  idiots  would  find  my  sentences  as  available  for 
repetition  as  their  sister's. 

Mrs.  Bryer  sighed  heavily.  "  You  must  not  mind  it," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  they  don't  know  any  better." 

Then  she  took  up  the  broken  thread  of  our  talk.  "  I 
hope  Mrs.  Divine  is  quite  well — and  Mrs.  Prescott  and 
Alice.  I  told  Eliza  she  ought  to  have  invited  Alice,  too ; 
but  she  said  she  never  thought  of  it.  The  truth  is,  Eliza 
has  not  lived  with  us  long, — only  a  year  or  so, — and  she 
keeps  herself  so  secluded  that  she  has  not  found  out  who 
her  neighbors  are.  But  she  begins  to  see  that  Carrie  needs 
to  go  out  more,  and  to  have  some  society, — the  girl  is  get- 
ting listless  and  low-spirited.  And  I  suppose,"  she  added, 
betraying  an  inward  consciousness  that  Mrs.  Thome's  sud- 
den overture  to  me  stood  somewhat  in  need  of  explanation, 
"  she  thought  she  would  like  Carrie  to  get  acquainted  with 
you, — I  have  often  spoken  about  you  to  her.  But  if  I  had 
known  about  her  invitation  in  time,  I  should  have  seen  that 
Alice  was  included  in  it.  However,  Eliza  is  apt  to  act  out 
of  her  own  head,  without  notice  or  warning." 


268  8HILOH. 

"  Out  of  her  head,  without  notice  or  warning" — "  out  of 
her  head  without  notice  or  warning,"  echoed  the  idiots, 
lugubriously. 

I  cast  a  glance  at  Carrie  Thome's  slender,  girlish  figure, 
waiting  for  me  in  the  doorway,  with  an  involuntary  feeling 
of  surprise  that  I  should  have  been  sought  for  as  an  asso- 
ciate for  her.  The  next  moment  I  sighed  deeply.  The  dis- 
parity, J  knew  well,  was  not  so  much  outward  as  inward ; 
not  of  years,  but  of  feeling.  To  a  surface-gaze,  we  might 
still  seem  well  mated  enough,  as  mating  goes, — but  I  felt  in 
my  heart  that  experience  of  life  and  sorrow  had  separated 
us  by  half  a  century. 

Nevertheless,  if  it  was  for  Carrie  Thome's  sake  that  I 
was  here,  I  would  try  not  to  defraud  any  reasonable  antici- 
pation. So  I  rose  and  went  near  to  her,  in  token  that  I 
placed  myself  at  her  disposal. 

She  immediately  conducted  me  up  the  crooked,  oaken 
staircase  to  a  large,  front  chamber  furnished  as  a  parlor, 
with  considerable  taste,  and  even  an  approach  to  elegance. 
Here  sat  a  woman,  with  her  sewing  on  her  lap,  whom,  at 
the  first  glance,  I  took  to  be  young  ;  at  the  second  (becom- 
ing aware  of  certain  skilful  devices  of  toilet,  as  well  as  of 
unmistakable  maturity  of  expression),  to  be  old  ;  and  it  was 
not  until  the  third,  and  a  prolonged  one,  that  I  settled  into 
the  conviction  that  she  was  still  in  the.  border-land  between 
youth  and  age, — so  far  as  years  were  concerned, — but  hope- 
lessly gray  and  old  and  worn  in  some  sort  of  bitter  knowl- 
edge and  experience.  She  rose  and  received  me  with  an 
ease  and  self-possession  that  evinced  considerable  ac- 
quaintance ~with  life  and  manners  ;  and  quietly  explained 
that  she  had  taken  the  liberty  of  sending  for  me  because 
she  believed  that  my  father  and  her  deceased  husband  were 
formerly  friends,  though  finally  separated  by  the  chances 
and  changes  of  life.  She  had  even  met  Mr.  Frost  once 
herself,  and  the  impression  upon  her  memory  was  so  pleas- 
ant that  she  desired  to  know  his  daughter.  And  as  she 


SHILOH.  269 

never  went  out,  on  account  of  delicate  health,  she  had  ven- 
tured to  entrust  Carrie  with  the  duty  of  a  preliminary  call, 
and  to  ask  me  informally  to  tea.  Her  act  being  thus 
relieved  of  any  doubtful  character,  and  brought  within  the 
pale  of  social  observance  ;  she  passed  easily  to  other  themes, 
— showing  in  all  some  refinement,  some  cultivation,  and  a 
rare  and  ready  tact  that  could  make  up  for  any  deficiencies 
in  either. 

Still,  I  was  conscious  of  some  involuntary  distrust  of 
her,  from  the  very  first.  An  unaccountable  Conviction  that 
her  claim  to  my  father's  acquaintance  was  not  genuine  took 
possession  of  my  mind,  and  would  not  be  dislodged ; 
though  she  answered,  or  parried,  all  my  questions  with  such 
consummate  skill  as  to  leave  me  no  reasonable  ground  for 
the  belief.  Somehow,  she  had  possessed  herself  of  a  toler- 
ably correct  resume  of  his  early  life,  and  the  places  wherein 
it  had  been  spent ;  and  any  inaccuracies  were  easily  charge- 
able to  a  defective  memory,  or  to  the  facility  with  which 
false  impressions  are  given  and  received.  I  listened, 
assented  outwardly,  and  inwardly  disbelieved. 

To  be  quite  frank  with  you,  the  moral  repulsion — or 
whatever  it  was — appeared  to  be  mutual.  At  the  moment 
of  our  meeting,  Mrs.  Thome's  face  expressed,  for  one  swift 
instant,  doubt,  disappointment,  and  perplexity;  the  next, 
she  had  drawn  on  her  mask  of  easy  affability,  and  nothing 
but  cordial  interest  and  pleasure  was  thereafter  suffered  to 
peep  from  beneath  it.  Yet  I  was  conscious,  now  and  then, 
that  a  keen,  furtive  glance  was  resting  upon  and  analyzing 
me  ;  though  I  never  once  succeeded  in  surprising  it. 

Carrie,  meanwhile,  had  seated  herself  at  a  window,  and 
was  looking  down  the  lane  with  an  eager,  expectant  face. 
Suddenly,  she  started  up,  exclaimed,  "  O  mother !  Rick  is 
coining  ! "  and  darted  down  the  stairs.  In  another  moment 
or  two  she  was  at  the  end  of  the  lane,  fulfilling  her  self- 
elected  office  of  gate-opener.  A  handsome  light  carriage, 
drawn  by  a  span  of  spirited  horses,  soon  came  through  and 


270  SHILOH. 

stopped ;  the  driver  reached  forth  his  hand  to  assist  her  to 
a  seat  at  his  side,  and  then  drove  up  the  lane  in  dashing 
style.  In  a  few  moments,  he  entered  the  room,  with 
his  sister  hanging  on  his  arm,  and  was  duly  presented  to 
me  by  his  mother.  Seeing  how  completely  these  two  lives 
were  absorbed  in  his,  I  looked  at  him  with  some  feeble  stir 
of  interest. 

But,  to  my  surprise,  I  saw  no  new  acquaintance  in 
Frederick  Thorne.  Although  his  name,  in  the  familiar  form 
current  in  Shik>h,  had  failed  to  strike  any  chord  of  associa- 
tion ;  my  first  glance  disclosed  the  fact  that  he  was  identi- 
cal with  a  certain  young  "  Mr.  Thorne  "  whom  I  met  last 
winter  ;  but  of  whom  I  had  known  nothing,  nor  sought  to 

know,  save  that  he  was  a  student  at College,  and  a 

classmate  of  the  eldest  son  of  the  Kenmores,  with  whom 
he  was  spending  the  holiday  vacation.  They  are  near 
neighbors  and  intimate  friends  of  my  aunt, — conse: 
quently,  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  him  during  his  stay.  In 
truth,  I  had  to  endure  some  little  good-natured  teasing  on 
the  score  of  the  very  open  and  boyish  admiration  where- 
with he  chose  to  honor  me.  I  happened  to  be  out  when  he 
made  his  final  call,  and  Flora  did  more  than  justice,  I  sus- 
pected, to  the  keenness  of  his  regret  at  being  prevented 
from  saying  farewell  in  person.  And  so,  having  made  but 
a  faint  and  transient  ripple  on  the  surface  of  its  flow,  he 
passed  out  of  my  life, — and  out  of  my  memory,  as  well. 

Yet  it  was  pleasant  to  meet  him  again,  just  now  and 
here.  The  sight  of  his  open,  handsome  face  was  like  a 
cheery  window-gleam  by  night,  to  a  traveller  over  an 
unknown  road.  His  delight  at  the  unexpected  meeting  was 
so.  evident,  too ;  and  so  frankly,  yet  courteously  expressed ; 
that  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  grateful  for  it,  and  to  share 
it  in  some  degree. 

Moreover,  Rick  Thorne  could  scarcely  appear  otherwise 
than  to  excellent  advantage  by  the  side  of  his  mother.  His 
countenance  was  so  full  of  frankness,  joyousness,  and  careless 


SHILOH.  271 

good-humor ;  while  hers  was  so  reserved,  so  cool,  so  concen- 
trated. His  manner  was  as  frank  as  his  face,  only  tempered 
by  a  fine,  natural  courtesy ;  hers,  soft  as  velvet,  yet  some- 
how suggestive  of  claws  underneath.  Years  of  intercourse 
might  not  avail  to  sound  all  the  deeps  of  her  character ; 
but  a  very  short  acquaintance  would  suffice  to  read  him 
through  and  through ; — a  sunny  temper,  an  easy-going, 
generous,  affectionate  nature,  a  fine  taste  and  some  fancy, 
more  capacity  for  emotion  than  thought ;  made  to  be  some- 
body's spoiled  darling  all  his  life,  and  certain  to  do  neither 
much  harm  nor  much  good  in  the  world.  In  its  essence,  a 
selfish  character;  but  not,  necessarily,  in  its  develop- 
ments ; — one  that  we  feel  instinctively  was  never  made  for 
life's  sorrows,  nor  its  storms,  nor  fitted  to  endure  any  of  the 
forms  of  martyrdom  which  await  those  who  have  the 
strength  and  the  will  to  enter  into  its  conflicts,  and  fight 
its  battles. 

It  is  not  a  character  that  appears  to  advantage  on  paper, 
I  know ;  but  it  has  its  charm,  and  possibly  its  value,  in  real 
life.  Seen  by  the  side  of  one  so  old  in  the  world's  ways, 
and  so  skilled  in  the  world's  strategies  as  Mrs.  Thome's,  it 
could  not  be  otherwise  than  delightful  and  refreshing.  I 
gave  myself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  it  with  the  more  heart- 
iness, in  order  to  escape  from  the  other.  Seeing  this,  Mrs. 
Thorne  took  up  her  work,  and  quietly  exchanged  the  posi- 
tion of  actor  for  that  of  spectator ;  in  which  she  reminded 
me  of  a  spider  lying  in  wait  for  incautious  flies. 

Rick's  talk  was  lively,  unreserved,  and  careless,  almost 
to  boyishness.  After  the  topics  growing  out  of  our  last 
winter's  acquaintance  were  exhausted ;  it  ran  much  upon 
his  personal  tastes,  pursuits,  and  exploits.  He  was  espe- 
cially eloquent  about  his  drive  up  from  IMventon,  and  ex- 
patiated at  some  length  upon  the  excellent  qualities  of  the 
"  span  "  which  had  brought  him.  Mrs.  Thorne  heaved  an 
involuntary  sigh,  and  her  brow  showed  a  deep  wrinkle.  It 
did  not  escape  her  son's  notice. 


272  SHILOH. 

"  You  need  not  look  so  glum,  mother,"  said  he,  frankly. 
"  I  suppose  I  might  have  come  up  with  one  horse,  but 
there's  twice  as  much  fun  in  driving  two.  And  I  didn't 
run  in  debt  for  it,  this  time.  I  won  ten  dollars  in  a  bet 
last  week ;  so,  you  see,  I  could  afford  to  give  myself  a 
treat." 

The  frown  on  his  mother's  brow  deepened,  and  she 
threw  him  a  warning  glance.  I  was  amused  to  think  how 
completely  it  was  wasted.  The  character  of  her  son  was  of 
the  sort  which  would  inevitably  reveal  itself. 

Tea  was  shortly  announced.  It  was  served  in  the  long, 
oak-ceiled  kitchen  ;  within  the  depths  of  whose  capacious 
fireplace  the  handful  of  sticks  which  had  boiled  the  tea- 
kettle still  blazed  fitfully.  Yet  so  remote  the  fire,  so  wide 
the  yawning,  black  throat  of  the  chimney,  and  so  free  the 
draught  across  the  table  (standing  between  two  open 
doors),  that  the  flame  seemed  not  to  add  one  more  fervid 
breath  to  the  sultry  summer  afternoon.  On  the  contrary, 
the  old  fashioned  fireplace, — with  its  broad,  uneven  hearth- 
stone, its  smoke-blackened  jams,  its  cavernous  oven,  its 
sooty  back,  its  swinging  crane,  garnished  with  pothooks 
.and  trammels  (on  one  of  which  the  teakettle  still  simmered 
drowsily),  its  sturdy  andirons,  its  -h ray  bed  of  ashes,  its 
ruddy  coals,  and  its  half-consumed  sticks,  falling  apart  and 
sending  up  alternate  jets  of  smoke  and  flame, — contributed 
an  element  of  picturesqueness  to  the  scene  that  I  should 
have  been  sorry  to  miss. 

The  half-wits  did  not  appear  at  the  table, — a  banish- 
ment effected,  doubtless,  by  the  agency  of  Mrs.  Thorne ; 
though  not  without  having  left  a  grieved  and  doubtful 
shadow  upon  Miss  Bryer's  face.  But  an  equally  noticeable 
and  disconcertinrg  presence  was  not  to  be  thus  averted, — 
that  of  Dr.  Bryer,  the  master -of  the  house.  He  was  already 
seated  at  the  right  of  the  tea-tray,  gaunt  and  grim, — his 
naturally  stern,  harsh,  and  arrogant  traits  of  countenance 
seeming  to  have  been  intensified  by  old  age  and  infirmity ; 


SHILOH.  2T3 

as  in  certain  ancient  portraits,  the  fading  of  light  and  color 
serves  but  to  bring  into  greater  prominence  the  severe,  in- 
flexible expression  of  the  face,  and  to  harmonize  it  more 
perfectly  with  the  known  character  of  the  original.  His 
garments  were  rusty,  and  carelessly  put  on ;  and  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  with  two  or  three  turns  of  coarse  twine 
around  it,  by  way  of  band,  deepened  the  shadow  of  his 
overhanging  brow. 

o        o 

"  You  will  please  excuse  father's  hat,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne, 
apologetically.  "  Old  people  have  their  whims,  which  must 
needs  be  indulged ; — and  it  is  one  of  my  father's  never  to 
take  off  his  hat  except  when  he  goes  to  bed.  Indeed,"  she 
added,  jestingly,  "  it  is  purely  a  matter  of  supposition,  on 
my  part,  that  he  does  it  then,  for  I  have  not  seen  him  with- 
out it  for  years.  I  must  also  premise  that  he  is  quite  deaf, 
so  much  so  that  he  does  not  expect  strangers  to  talk  to 
him  ;  he  has  hard  work  to  understand  voices  to  which  he  is 
accustomed." 

Then  she  raised  her  voice.  "  Father,  let  me.  introduce 
you  to  Miss  Frost." 

"  Xonsense  !  "  returned  the  old  man,  in  a  harsh,  querel- 
ous  tone,  "  you're  out  of  your  senses,  Eliza !  Who^  ever 
heard  of  frost  on  the  first  of  July?  And  after  such  a 
sweltering  day,  too !  But  why  don't  you  introduce  that 
young  woman  ?  " 

Mrs.  Thorne  repeated  her  introduction  in  a  still  louder 
tone. 

"  Corse  !  "  said  her  father,  eyeing  me  sharply.  "  I  am 
glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Corse ;  I  hope  you  are  .very  well." 
An.d  then,  evidently  taking  it  for  granted  that  whatever 
was  inaudible  to  himself  must  needs  be  so  to  others,  he 
muttered,  distinctly  enough,  "  Corse !  Good  heavens, 
what  a  name !  Might  as  well  be  Corpse,  and  done  with 
it!" 

Rick's  face  grew  red,  and  he  hastily  lifted  a  glass  of 
water  to  his  lips.  The  rising  laugh,  however,  was  not  to 
12* 


274  SHILOH. 

be  swallowed  with  the  water ;  the  twain  met  in  his  throat, 
and  after  a  momentary  struggle  for  the  right  of  way,  the 
laugh  conquered."  There  was  a  choke,  an  explosion,  a  scat- 
tering shower,  and  Rick  darted  to  the  window. 

Mrs.  Thorne  sent  after  him  a  look  of  smothered  fury, 
that  would  have  made  her  fortune  on  the  tragic  stage ; 
then,  she  smoothed  her  face  into  deprecation,  and  turned  to 
me.  "  Miss  Frost,  I  am  sure  you  will  excuse  my  father,  on 
account  of  his  age  and  infirmities.  But  as  for  Rick,  I  am 
ashamed  of  him.  There  is  no  excuse  for  his  untimely  levity, 
unless  it  be  that — 

"  That  he  couldn't  help  it,"  interrupted  Rick,  coming 
back  to  the  table.  "  Nothing  like  the  truth  to  wipe  out  an 
error.  And  Miss  Frost  would  have  laughed,  too,  if  she  had 
dared.  I  saw  it  in  her  eyes.  Nevertheless,  I  humbly  beg 
her  pardon — and  yours." 

Mrs.  Thome's  look  softened  involuntarily.  Her  son's 
handsome  face  and  frank,  graceful  manner,  would  have  dis- 
armed a  sterner  censor. 

Dr.  Bryer,  meanwhile,  liad  addressed  himself  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  the  edibles  on  his  plate,  in  serene  unconscious- 
ness of  his  blunder,  or  its  effects.  He  now  intermitted  his 
agreeable  occupation  long  enough  to  inquire,  "  How  did 
you  come  up,  Rick  ?  " 

"  Drove  up,  sir.  Had  a  splendid  team — "  began  Rick, 
preparing  to  enter  into  the  subject  with  enthusiasm,  and  at 
some  length. 

"  Plenty  of  steam !  "  interrupted  his  grandfather,  gruff- 
ly. "  I'll  warrant  it ! — enough  to  have  sent  you  to  spit  out 
your  mouthful  of  cigar-smoke  in  Kingdom  Come,  if  there 
had  been  a  cow  on  the  track,  or  a  rail  askew.  I  thank  the 
Lord  I  never  yet  patronized  any  of  those  inventions  for 
breaking  people's  necks.  To  be  sure,  young  men's  necks 
ain't  good  for  much  except  to  be  broken,  now-a-days.  The 
railroads  save  the  sheriff  some  trouble,  I  suppose." 

With  which  gracious  remark  the  old  doctor  applied 


SHILOH.  275 

himself  afresh  to  his  biscuit  and  butter;  and  the  talk 
became  general.  In  the  midst  of  it,  he  launched  a  new 
inquiry. 

"  Getting  on  well  at  college,  Rick  ?  Head  of  the  first 
division,  eh  ?  " 

His  grandson's  face  fell  a  little.  "  Not  exactly,  grand- 
father," he  answered,  more  seriously  than  his  wont ;  "  to 
tell  the  truth,  it's  about  as  much  as  I  can  do  to  hold  my 
own  in  any  division.  I  reckon  study  doesn't  run  in  the 
Thorne  blood  ;  if  it  does,  it  has  skipped  a  generation." 

"  Zouiids,  Rick !"  exclaimed  the  old  man  sharply,  "  you're 
too  old  to  be  skipping  demonstrations.  Why  in  the  name 
of  sense  don't  you  face  your  work  like  a  man,  and  not 
shirk  it  like  a  boy  ?  " 

Rick  gave  a  rueful  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  but  attempted 
no  defence;  nor  did  his  grandfather  seem  to  expect 
any. 

"  You  will  observe,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne  to  me,  blandly, 
"  that  we  do  not  think  it  worth  while  to  correct  my  poor 
father's  mistakes,  when  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary.  The 
attempt  to  explain  would  only  lead  to  fresh  errors,  and  we 
think  it  better  to  let  the  subject  drop  in  any  way  he 
pleases." 

"  What's  that  you're  saying,  Eliza  ?  "  suddenly  demand- 
ed the  old  doctor,  suspending  operations,  and  eyeing  her 
suspiciously. 

Mrs.  Thorne  bit  her  lip.  "  I  was  saying  that  we  would 
drop  the  subject,"  she  replied,  rather  shortly. 

"  Dropped  what  f  "  queried  the  old  man,  evidently  at  a 
loss.  "Did  it  break?" 

Carrie  tittered,  Rick  laughed,  and  no  one  could  repress 
a  smile.  Dr.  Bryer  looked  angrily  from  one  to  another. 
His  eldest  daughter  hastened  to  explain.  Putting  her  lips 
close  to  his  ear,  she  repeated  her  sister's  words,  in  slow, 
distinct,  and  not  ungentle  tones,  that  found  easy  access  to 
his  understanding. 


276  SHILOH. 

"  Oh !  with  all  my  heart,"  he  responded,  dryly.  "  Es- 
pecially as  it  won't  bear  much  handling.  Addled  eggs  and 
addle  pates  it  is  as  well  to  let  alone,"  he  added,  with  a  caustic 
glance  at  his  grandson.  Plainly  the  spectacle  of  the  latter' s 
easy  temper  and  sportive  ways  annoyed  and  irritated  him. 
Having  himself  led  an  active,  energetic,  aggressive  life  from 
early  youth ;  in  rough  and  often  hostile  contact  with  the 
world ;  repaying  every  jest  with  a  jibe,  and  every  scoff  with 
a  scowl  or  a  blow ;  he  could  not  understand  Rick's  sun- 
shiny, laissez-faire  existence,  nor  the  touch  of  Sybaritism  in 
his  nature,  nor  his  good-humored  endurance  of  his  own 
biting  taunts  and  sarcasms.  He  marveled  that  a  young 
man,  with  all  his  life-battles  yet  to  be  fought,  and  his  for- 
tunes to  be  made  or  marred,  should  be  so  gay,  so  self- 
indulgent,  so  inconsequent.  If  he  could,  he  would  have 
thrown  him  at  once  into  the  middle  of  the  fight ;  unsuspi- 
cious that  he  was  as  little  likely  to  receive  downright  blows 
as  to  give  them  (since  the  world  invariably  softens  a  little 
to  persons  of  his  make) ;  unknowing  that  sorrow  and  trial, 
however  much  they  might  refine  and  spiritualize  his  char- 
acter, could  never  make  him  strong  with  the  kind  of 
strength  he  coveted  for  him.  Especially  was  Dr.  Bryer 
disgusted  with  his  grandson's  fastidious  niceties  of  toilet : 
the  cut  of  his  coat,  the  tie  of  his  cravat,  and  the  polish  of  his 
boots,  he  reckoned  up  against  him  as  so  many  positive  sins. 
His  joyousness  and  his  amiability  he  threw  into  the  same 
category.  These  were  not  the  faults  of  his  own  youth, 
therefore  the  doctor  had  no  indulgence  for  them.  If  IJick 
had  been  fiery  and  reckless,  or  determined  and  vindictive, 
he  could  have  had  .patience  with  him,  and  hope  of  his 
future ;  but  for  a  handsome,  amiable,  indolent  youth,  whose 
worst  vice  was  cigars,  and  whose  highest  ambition  was  to 
be  dragged  ignominiously  through  college  at  the  tail  of  a 
"Third  Division,"  he  entertained  nothing  but  contempt. 
If  ever  he  felt  the  charm  of  his  manner,  he  rebelled  against 
it.  He  overlooked  the  good  in  him,  because  it  was  so 


sniLoii.  2YY 

largely  negative  in  its  character ;  and  he  despised  the  evil 
in  him,  for  the  very  same  reason. 

His  last  stinging  remark,  however,  was  not  without  a 
momentary  effect.  Rick's  face  flushed,  and  he  seemed  on 
the  pqint  of  making  a  hasty  rejoinder;  but  his  mother  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm  with  a  firm,  warning  pressure,  and 
Miss  Bryer  nervously  sought  to  create  a  diversion  by  be- 
sieging me  with  tea-table  attentions.  To  do  Rick  justice, 
his  resentment  was  but  a  flash ;  and  by  the  time  I  had  suc- 
cessively declined  cheese,  dried-beef,  pickles  and  jelly  (some 
of  them  twice  over,  for  Miss  Bryer's  anxiety  confused  her 
recollection),  his  wonted  good-nature  resumed  its  easy  sway, 
and  he  was  ready  to  follow  up  the  assault  with  reinforce- 
ments of  cake — loaf-cake,  queen-cake,  seed-cake,  and  I  know 
not  what  beside. 

I  shall  record  but  one  other  tea-table  topic.  In  some 
reminiscence  of  New  Orleans,  Mrs.  Thorne  suddenly  men- 
tioned the  name  of  Venner,  and  my  start  of  surprise  did 
not  escape  her  notice, — nothing  does  ! 

"Do  you  know  them?"  she  asked. 

"  The  bankers  ?  Only  by  reputation,"  replied  I,  evas- 
ively. 

She  looked  at  me  with  keen  scrutiny.  "It  was  the 
youngest  partner  that  I  knew  well,"  she  went  on, — "  Mr. 
Paul  Yenner.  A  fine  young  man.  Did  you  never  happen 
to  meet  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have — in  New  York.  But  he  was  not  then 
connected  with  the  house  of  which  you  speak." 

"  Indeed  !  "  rejoined  she,  with  a  tone  of  surprise.  "  I 
understood  him  to  say  that  he  had  grown  up  in  it." 

I  made  no  reply.  What  need  to  discuss  the  matter  ?  Of 
course  she  labored  under  a  misapprehension,  but  many  a 
worse  one, — involving  it  may  be,  the  happiness  of  a  life — 
has  had  to  pass  without  correction. 

Mrs.  Thorne  looked  dissatisfied  and  curious.  "  I  get 
an  occasional  letter  from  him  even  now,"  she  continued, 


278  SHILOH. 

with  her  eyes  fixed  on  my  face,  as  if  bent  on  finding  the 
clue  to  my  first  involuntary  manifestation  ;  "  for  the  busi- 
ness in  which  he  is  my  agent  is  still  unsettled,  and  he  keeps 
me  informed  of  its  progress." 

"Ah,  indeed?"  said  I,  doing  my  best  to  assume  that 
mildly  interrogative  tone  wherewith  politeness  so  thinly 
masks  indifference. 

She  made  another  attempt.  "  By  the  way,  did  I  not 
hear  a  rumor  that  he  was  married,  or  about  to  be  ?" 

"  Very  possibly,"  answered  I,  gazing  absently  out  of  the 
window,  and  thinking,  not  of  Mrs.  Thome,  not  of  Madame 
Rumor,  but  of  Paul's  face  as  I  saw  it  last — as  I  see  it  now, 
and  shall  see  it,  I  fear,  always, — changing  slowly  from  sur- 
prise to  doubt — certainty — anguish;  and  vanishing,  stern 
and  reproachful,  into  the  gloom.  "Will  he  wear  that  face  at 
the  altar,  I  wonder  ?  And  was  it  the  far-off  swinging  of  his 
wedding-bells  that  made  the  air  so  close  and  heavy  that 
sultry  summer  afternoon — overflooded  with  melody,  even 
to  faintness,  as  sometimes  with  perfume !  Well !  what 
could  it  possibly  matter  to  me  ! 

Mrs.  Thorne  gave  it  up,  and  rose  from  the  table. 

"  Carrie,"  she  said,  presently,  "  it  promises  to  be  a  fine 
sunset ;  suppose  you  and  Rick  take  Miss  Frost  over  to 
enjoy  it  from  Sunset  Rock.  A  spot,"  she  added,  turning 
to  me,  "  where  the  departure  of  day  is  witnessed  to  great 
advantage,  with  whatever  glories  of  light  and  cloud  it 
wraps  about  it, — from  which  circumstance  it  derives  its 
name." 


SUNSET     PICTURES. 

• 

HE  Bryer  mansion  and  its  immediate  acres  oc- 
cupied the  flat  crown  of  Chestnut  Hill.  To 
the  west  began  a  gentle  slope  into  a*wide, 
undulating  vale,  robed  with  the  varied  green  of 
forest,  field,  and  meadow,  and  jeweled  with  tiny 
sheets  and  threads  of  water.  On  the  brow  of 
this  slope  was  a  great,  rough,  irregular  mass  of 
rock,  Avith  mosses  and  ferns  clinging  to  its  sides' 
and  a  thrifty  young  oak  rooted  in  a  seam  at  its  top  ;  under 
whose  boughs  we  sat  down  to  view  the  marvelous  pictures 
that  sun  and  cloud  were  jointly  making.  Overhead  the 
sky  was  clear  and  rosy.  To  the  right,  large  masses  of 
cloud  were  rolling  up, — their  bossy  fronts  ruddy  with  the 
sun-glow,  but  stretching  far  back,  dense,  sombre  and,  threat- 
ening. In  the  western  horizon  the  sun  hung  low — a  blood- 
red  ball  of  fire.  Just  beneath- him,  within  a  hand-breadth, 
as  it  seemed,  of  the  horizon's  rim,  sti-etched  a  long,  narrow 
line  of  cloud,  straight  and  black  and  shai'p  as  if  drawn 
with  ink.  Toward  this  the  sun  was  slowly  descending. 

"  How  strange,"  said  Carrie  Thorne,  suddenly,  "to 
think  that  the  sun  which  seems — and  is — setting,  to  us,  is 
really  rising  upon  another  hemisphere  !  " 

"  I  am  better  content  to  forget  it,"  I  answered,  speak- 
ing out  of  an  uncontrollable  bitterness  of  heart  (Ah  !  those 
wedding  bells  !).  "  To-night,  it  only  saddens  me  to  know 


280  SHILOH. 

that  other  and  fresher  eyes  discover,  in  the  vanishing  rose 
and  gold  of  our  sunset,  the  waking  glory  of  their  morn- 
ing." 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  gentle  surprise.  "  I  do  not  see 
why  it  should,"  she  said,  simply.  "  It  makes  me  glad  to 
think  that  there  is  morning  somewhere,  if  not  just  over 
me."  Then  she  went  to  gather  some  wild  columbines 
growing  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock  ;  and,  lured  on  from  one 
tuft  of  ruby-colored,  honey-laden  blossoms  to  another,  dis- 
appeared from  sight. 

Rick  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  rock,  a  little  apart ; 
and  was  watching  the  sky  in  silence,  with  a  face  whose 
quiet  gravity  might  have  beseemed  a  death-bed  vigil. 
Gifted  with  a  quick  sense  of  beauty,  and  impressionable 
as  water,  his  eyes  dwelt  admiringly  on  the  sunset's  change- 
ful splendors,  while  his  mood  involuntarily  reflected  the 
spirit  of  the  hour  and  scene. 

Meantime,  the  sun  sank  steadily.  Ere  long,  his  bright 
rim  touched  the  black  strip  of  cloud,  and  vanished  behind 
it, — blotted,  as  it  were,  from  the  universe.  The  landscape 
shuddered,  and  the  sky  grew  livid.  From  the  dusky 
cloud-bastion  on  the  right,  came  a  low  roll  of  thunder,  as 
if  in  solemn  protest.  In  the  boughs  above  us,  a  hidden 
bird  gave  a  scared,  iineasy  twitter  ;  and  a  breeze  that  had 
slept  in  the  tree's  top  since  morning,  woke  from  its  long 
dream,  and  stirred,  and  sighed.  Rick  threw  me  an  awe- 
struck, appealing  glance  ;  as  if  to  fill  up  the  measure  of 
his  sombre  delight  with  the  certainty  of  another's  sympa- 
thy ;  but  he  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  I  was  deeply  grate- 
ful to  him  for  his  silence.  At  that  moment,  a  talkative  or 
a  fidgety  companion  would  have  been  intolerable. 

Suddenly,  a  faint  red  gleam  shot  from  beneath  the  eb- 
ony cloud  ;  and  on  the  instant  the  sun's  lower  rim  emerged, 
and  slowly  grew  upon  our  view.  The  spectacle  now  be- 
came wondrously  and  weirdly  beautiful.  The  straight, 
narrow  cloud  drew  a  belt  of  inky  blackness  across  the  sun's 


SHILOH.  281 

broad  disc ;  above  and  below  which,  the  uncovered  por- 
tions of  that  luminary  glowed  radiantly, — two  distinct 
hemispheres  of  crimson  splendor.  Gradually  the  black 
belt  crept  up  ;  little  by  little,  the  lower  hemisphere  broad- 
ened ;  the  upper  one  diminished ;  and  the  sun  reappeared 
to  view.  Round,  red,  and  majestic,  he  hung  for  a  few  mo- 
ments above  the  horizon,  bathing  the  earth  and  sky  in  his 
departing  glory.  Every  glimpse  of  water  became  a  spot 
of  roseate  sheen  ;  every  leaf  and  grass-blade  had  its  face  of 
ruddy  glow  and  reverse  of  purple  dusk ;  even  the  gray 
tints  of  the  rock  whereon  we  sat  showed  dimly  through  a 
lustrous,  rosy  veil.  Thus  regal,  calm,  and  glorious,  the  sun 
sank  finally  from  sight, 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful !  "  exclaimed  Rick,  drawing  a 
long  bi-eath,  and  starting  up.  "  I  never  saw  anything  like 
it !  Airl  I  doubt  if  ever  I  do  again  ; — however,  a  single 
sunset  like  that  may  well  suffice  one  for  a  lifetime.  But  I 
would  give  a  good  deal  to  know  what  you  saw  in  it,  Miss 
Frost !  Something  more  than  sun  and  cloud  and  color,  I'll 
be  boun'd." 

Involuntarily  I  held  out  my  hand  to  him.  "  Let  me 
thank  you  fymst  for  keeping  so  still.  Most  people  would 
have  talked,  and  I  could  not  have  borne  it.  You  shall 
have  my  thoughts  gratis,  since  you  are  pleased  to  want  any- 
thing so  worthless.  I  was  only  thinking  how  often  a  hu- 
man life  passes  suddenly  behind  as  black  and  opaque  a 
cloud  as  did  the  sun  yonder ;  and  I  was  wondering  how 
many  of  them  would  partially  emerge,  and  forever  present 
to  the  mind's  eye  the  spectacle  of  two  hemispheres  of 
brightness,  with  a  black  belt  of  sorrowful  experiences  and 
memories  between  them.  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  puzzle  myself  with  the  still  harder  question  how  few  of 
them  would  ever  come  out  wholly  from  the  cloud,  to  shine 
in  undimmed  and  unrestricted  brightness  for  awhile  before 
sinking  finally  into  the  grave." 

He  gave  me  a  more  penetrating  look  than  I  had  thought 


282  SHILOH. 

him  capable  of.  "  If  it  were  my  life,"  he  said,  with  un- 
wonted energy,  "  it  should  come  out  from  the  cloud  !  It 
should  come  forth  radiant,  not  to  sink  into  the  grave,  but 
to  make  a  new  morning  for  the  new  sky  and  the  new  earth 
that  are  waiting  for  it." 

I  drew  back,  with  a  subtle,  intuitive  impression  of  some 
latent  meaning  in  his  words, — felt,  but  not  understood.  lie 
paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on,  more  slowly,  but 
in  a  tone  expressive  of  even  deeper  feeling.  "  Do  not  for- 
get what  Carrie  said  just  now,  that  the  sun  which  is  setting 
to  one,  is  rising  to  another ;  and  try  to  derive  a  little  cheer 
from  the  reflection  that,  in  human  life  also,  joy  often  begins 
to  rise  in  the  very  spot  where,  from  one  point  of  view,  he 
seems  to  have  set  forever." 

Both  truth  and  comfort  were  in  his  words,  if  I  could 
have  stopped  to  take  them.  But  I  passed  them  over 
unheeding,  intent  only  upon  detecting  and  defining  that 
other  suspicious,  elusive  ingredient ;  which,  however,  con- 
tinually escaped  from  my  crucible  of  thought  in  formless, 
intangible  vapoi\  A  loud  peal  of  thunder  startled  me  in 
the  midst  of  the  attempt.  Rick  and  I  looked  round  simul- 
taneously. Behind  us  stretched  a  dense,  dull  .gray  canopy 
of  clouds,  lit  up,  for  an  instant,  with  the  vivid  glare  of 
lightning;  a  chill,  sullen  wind  breathed  drearily  in  our 
faces ;  and  two  meadows  beyond,  between  us  and  the 
house,  we  could  see  and  hear  distinctly  the  heavy  march  of 
the  rain. 

"  So  thaPs  what  the  clouds  have  been  up  to  in  our  rear, 
while  we  were  busy  with  those  in  front ! "  said  Rick, 
with  undisguised  vexation.  "  A  very  well  executed  flank 
movement,  it  must  be  acknowledged  !  But  an  exceedingly 
unhandsome  trick  on  the  part  of  the  elements,  nevertheless. 
What  has  Carrie  done  with  herself,  I  wonder?" 

"  I  suppose  we  are  to  run  for  it,"  said  I,  gathering  up 
my  skirt,  preparatory  to  flight.  But  Rick  stopped  me. 

"It  won't   do,"  said   he,  decisively.     "You  will  run 


SHILOII.  283 

straight  into  the  rain,  and  your  discomfort  in  being  soaked 
will  not  be  mitigated  by  the  consideration  that  you  are 
'neither  sugar  nor  salt' — except  in  a  figurative  . sense. 
There  is  a  hole  under  the  rock — a  cave,  if  you  like  that 
better — where  I  have  found  shelter  from  many  a  shower,  in 
my  boyhood ;  and  it  is  large  enough  to  hold  us  all,  if  I 
remember  right.  At  all  events,  it  is  our  only  chance  of 
escape.  This  way — the  path  is  a  little  rough — let  me  help 
you  down." 

I  hesitated.  The  "hole  under  the  rock"  had  not  an 
inviting  sound.  Besides,  I  had  no  mind  to  seek  its  shelter 
until  I  was  certain  of  Carrie's  company. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Rick,  a  little  impatiently, 
fairly  lifting  me  from  the  rock  on  which  I  stood  to  the  one 
below,  "  but  I  see  that  I  must  take  the  matter  into  my  own 
hands,  if  you  are  not  to  get  wet ;  and  I  do  not  propose  that 
you  shall,  under  my  charge.  There  is  a  raindrop,  now ! 
And  there  is  Carrie  down  below — all  in  good  time !  Run, 
Carrie,  for  the  '  oven,'  " — raising  his  voice,  and  accompany- 
ing the  injunction  with  an  expressive  gesture. 

She  nodded,  and  darted  around  the  corner  of  the  rock. 
At  sight  of  her  and  the  raindrops,  my  hesitation  vanished, 
and  I  followed  with  alacrity.  We  were  soon  in  the  cave, — 
an  oven-shaped  cavity  formed  by  the  overlapping  of  the 
rocks.  Its  ceiling  was  only  just  high  enough  to  admit  of 
our  sitting  upright ;  but  the  lateral  space  was  ample.  It 
was  beginning  to  be  dusky,  of  course;  though  the  opening 
faced  the  western  sky,  and  would  catch  its  latest  gleam. 

An  hour  passed  swiftly  enough.  There  was  even  a 
degree  of  enjoyment  in  our  situation-.  Almost  any  event 
which  transcends  ordinary  rules  a  little,  without  violating 
them,  is  a  pleasant  break  in  a  monotonous  life. 

Moreover,  circumstances  like  these  give  a  strong  impe- 
tus to  acquaintance.  Barriers  of  strangeness,  of  reserve, 
of  shyness,  melt  down  insensibly.  Rick,  Carrie,  and  I, 
were  soon  talking-  together  with  much  of  the  ease  and  con- 


284  SHILOH. 

fidence  of  old  friends.  Both  of  my  companions  gained 
thereby.  Carrie  showed  an  amiable,  unselfish  nature,  sweet 
and  sound  to  the  core ;  and  Rick,  more  manliness  of 
thought  and  aspiration  than  I  had  given  him  credit  for. 
Naturally,  our  talk  took  a  tinge  of  gravity  from  the  sunset 
we  had  just  witnessed ;  deepened  by  the  loud  roll  of  the 
thunder,  the  beat  of  the  rain,  and  the  growing  duskiness  of 
our  retreat. 

I  mention  these  incidents  that  you  may  understand  how 
inevitably  they  stimulated  the  growth  of  feelings  that,  oth- 
erwise, would  scarce  have  blossomed  so  soon, — that  might 
have  perished  in  their  unquickened  germs. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour,  the  flashes  of  lightning  that  had 
lit  up  our  cell  from  time  to  time,  ceased ;  and  the  thunder 
died  away  in  a  faint  far-off  muttering.  But  the  rain  still 
fell  heavily.  Taking  an  observation,  Rick  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  the  shower  had  developed  into  a  settled  rain, 
and  that  we  were  "regularly  in  for  it." 

"  And  so,"  he  continued,'  buttoning  up  his  coat,  "  the 
next  thing  is  for  me  to  go  up  to  the  house,  and  bring  clown 
a  lot  of  outsiders  for  you  end  Miss  Frost  to  go  home 
with." 

"  Outsiders ! "  laughed  Carrie,  "  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Outsiders,  sweet  sis,  is  a  generic  name  for  things  to  be 
worn  outside, — shawls,  rubbers,  overcoats,  etc."  And  Rick 
put  on  his  hat,  preparatory  to  launching  himself  into  the 
rain. 

At  this  moment  a  faint  "  Halloo ! "  penetrated  our 
hiding-place. 

"  By  all  that's  opportune,  a  rescue  !  "  exclaimed  Rick, 
dashing  out,  and  returning  it  with  a  will. 

In  brief  space  of  time,  a  nondescript  figure  appeared  at 
the  mouth  of  .the  cavern.  It  had  long,  gray  hair,  keen 
black  eyes,  slouching  garments,  and  a  saturnine  face ; — in 
short,  it  was  Mortimer  Bryer,  the  hero  of  Mrs.  Prescott's 
anecdote,  who  had  not  before  deigned  to  show  himself  to 


SHILOH.  285 

me.  He  was  heavily  laden  with  "  outsiders,"  which  he  dis- 
pensed, with  as  few  words  as  possible ;  then,  taking  Carrie 
on  his  arm,  under  an  umbrella,  he  marched  off  at  a  great 
pace.  Rick  hoisted  another  over  me,  and  we  followed  as 
fast  as  possible,  but  were  inevitably  distanced  in  the  race. 
Mrs.  Thorne  met  us  at  the  door  with  profuse  regrets 
and  condolences.  We  had  a  merry  drying  by  the  kitchen 
fire,  and  plenty  of  vivacious  talk  from  Rick  afterward.  I 
accepted,  perforce,  an  invitation  to  spend  the  night ;  for  all 
the  celestial  reservoirs  Deemed  to  be  emptying  themselves, 
as  a  preliminary  step  to  a  thorough  renovation.  At  a  tol- 
erably late  hour,  Mrs.  Thorne  conducted  me  to  a  large, 
dusky  room,  filled  with  grim,  old-fa.shioned  furniture.  I 
slept  in  a  high-post  bedstead ;  over  which  a  heavy  canopy 
and  hangings  of  dark  chintz  brooded  like  a  cloud.  Beside 
it,  stood  a  tall,  high-backed  chair,  in  such  a  position  as  to 
seem  intended  for  the  reception  of  some  ghostly  watcher. 
Perhaps  it  was  this  that  made  sleep  so  unresponsive  to  my 
call,  and  gave  me  ample  time  to  think  how  strange  it  was 
that  Mrs.  Thorne  should  know  Paul  Venner ! 


IX    THE    BOWlfu. 

HE  morning  was  so  clear  and  fair  as  to  give 
color '  to  the  fancy  that  nature  was  trying 
to  make  sweet  amends  for  the  storm  of  the 
preceding  night.  After  breakfast,  I  announced 
my  intention  of  proceeding  immediately  home- 
ward; but  Mrs.  Thorne  managed,  somehow,  to 
set  its  fulfilment  aside,  and  to  substitute  a  plan 
to  visit  some  natural  curiosity  called  "  The 
Bower,"  in  a  neighboring  bit  of  woods.  This  involved  the 
necessity  of  waiting  for  the  grass  to  dry,  and  another  hour 
or  two  of  Bryer  and  Thorne  society,  with  a  considerable 
preponderance,  I  thought,  of  Rick's.  In  due  time,  how- 
ever, we  set  forth,  Carrie  linking  her  arm  in  mine,  and  her 
brother  in  advance.  Half  way  across  the  first  meadow  we 
were  stopped  by  Mrs.  Thome's  voice. 

"  Carrie  ! "  she  called,  with  her  head  out  of  the  Avin- 
dow,  "I  want  you,  just  for  a  moment  or  two.  I  forgot  to 
measure  your  belt.  Go  on,  Miss  Frost,  she  will  overtake 
you  directly." 

-  We  went  on,  of  course,  but  I  had  a  singular  feeling,  for 
the  moment,  that  Rick  and  Carrie  and  I  were  only  puppets, 
whereof  Mrs.  Thorne  pulled  the  wires ! 

"  The  Bower  "  was  worth  seeing,  nevertheless.  A  lux- 
uriant, wild  grapevine  had  run  up  and  down  and  across  the 


6HILOH  287 

boughs  and  trunks  of  contiguous  trees,  and  woven  a^  hut- 
like  enclosure,  with  but  a  single  narrow  opening ; — all  of 
green  verdure  without,  all  a  brown  network  of  vines  with- 
in, supported  by  mossy  pillars  of  tree-trunks.  Inside  was 
a  rustic  seat, — not  in  the  best  repair. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Rick,  after  having  tested  its  strength 
by  a  vigorous  shake  ;  "  Carrie  will  be  here  soon.  She  will 
consider  herself  defrauded,  no  doubt,  in  not  hearing  your 
first  exclamation  of  wonder  ;  she  would  be  doubly  disap- 
pointed, if  we  did  not  wait  for  her."  And  Rick  folded  his 
arms,  leaned  against  one  of  the  gray  pillars,  and  seemed  to' 
lose  himself  in  thought.  Some  indefinable  feeling  made  me 
careful  not  to  disturb  it.  I  sat  silent,  listening  for  Carrie's 
step,  wondering  how  lon'g  Mrs.  Thorne  would  deem  it  ex- 
pedient to  keep  her,  and  inwardly  resolving  that  my  move- 
ments should  never  again  be  woven  into  the  intricate  web 
of  her  designs. 

And  yet,  what  possible  object  could  she  have  in  throw- 
ing Rick  and  me  together  ?  So  utterly  fruitless  was  my 
investigation  in  that  direction,  that  I  began  to  think  my- 
self needlessly  suspicious  ;  and  to  settle  down  into  the  be- 
lief that  things  had  taken  their  natural  course,  after  all, 
uninfluenced  by  my  bland  and  easy  hostess,  except  as 
she  was  naturally  desirous  of  fit  companionship  for  her 
daughter. 

Then,  secure  in  his  intense  and  prolonged  absorption,  I 
suffered  my  eyes  to  rest  upon  my  companion,  and  was  new- 
ly and  vividly  impressed  with  his  wondrous  personal  beau- 
ty ; — a  beauty  similar  in  kind,  though  not  at  all  in  expres- 
sion, to  that  which  old  masters  give  to  Our  Lord,  blended 
of  both  masculine  and  feminine  traits.  The  exquisite 
mould  and  outline,  of  his  form  and  countenance  had  the 
superadded  charm  of  perfect  health, — the  richest  vitality 
animating  the  most  symmetrical  mechanism.  He  stood 
where  both  face  and  figure  continually  caught  fresh  lights 
and  changeful  tints  from  the  flickering  play  of  sunbeams 


288  SHILOH. 

falling  through  the  wind-stirred  roof  of  foliage;  as  if  to 
typify  how  capable  was  his  inner  nature  of  imbibing  pleas- 
ant hues  and  cheerful  gleams  of  light  from  all  points  ;  and 
making  me  feel  that,  as  a  matter  of  artistic  propriety,  he 
ought  always  to  be  so  placed  as  to  receive  the  greatest  pos- 
sible amount  of  material  and  metaphorical  sunshine.  Fate 
would  do  him  as  much  wrong  in  withholding  them,  I 
thought,  as  in  denying  to  ordinary  men  a  sufficiency  of 
air  to  breathe.  His  features  ought  always  to  reflect  the 
glow  of  a  cheerful  and  happy  spirit ; — the  frown  of  sorrow, 
of  care,  or  of  anger,  would  be  as  much  out  of  place  among 
them,  as  on  the  careless,  open  brow  of  a  child.  Yet  the 
light  veil  of  thought  which  now  shadowed  them,  was 
rather  a  beautificr  than  otherwise.  Indeed,  it  did  more 
than  shadow  ;  it  informed  them  with  a  deeper  and  more 
delicate  intelligence,  and  subtly  suggested  (with  what 
amount  of  truth  I  know  not)  some  latent,  finer  temper 
of  being. 

Seeing  him  thus,  it  occurred  to  me  how  easy  it  would  be 
for  a  thoughtless,  inexperienced  girl  to  lose  her  heart  to 
him.  I  could  even  conceive  that  it  were  possible  for  a  wo- 
man— gentler,  tenderer,  more  generous,  and  more  disinter- 
ested than  myself — to  lay  down  her  life  and  love  at  his 
feet ;  content  for  them  to  be  trodden  in  the  dust,  if  by  that 
means  his  way  might  be  made  smooth  and  easy  to  the  hap- 
piness that  she  could  so  much  better  bear  to  do  without. 
There  are  women  who  might  fitly  be  wedded  to  the  horse- 
leech ;  they  are  satisfied  (for  a  time,  at  least)  to  "  give — 
give,"  asking  little  or  nothing  in  return ;  with  them  it  is 
enough  for  happiness  to  watch  the  abundant,  jinobstructed 
outflow  of  their  own  hearts.  The  motherly  instinct  is 
strongest  in  them.  Their  supremest  delight  is  to  cherish, 
to  nurture,  to  nourish, — whether  with  milk  of  breast,  love 
of  heart,  toil  of  hand,  or  ache  of  brow ;  and,  till  children 
come  to  divert  the  feeling  into  its  more  natural  channel,  it 
sets  strongly  toward  lover  and  husband.  Such  an  one 


SHILOH.  289 

might  ask  nothing  better  of  Providence  than  the  opportu- 
nity of  devoting  hei-self  to  this  beautiful,  amiable,  joyous 
creature,  who  would  always  retain,  even  in  mature  age, 
somewhat  of  the  characteristics  of  youth ; — and,  reversing 
the  natural  order  of  the  relation  of  woman  to  man,  she 
might  be  content  to  spend  her  days  and  strength  in  remov- 
ing the  thorns  from  his  pathway,  and  warding  off  from 
him  the  strokes  of  sorrow  and  of  trial.  I  might  even  be 
capable  of  it  myself,  if  he  were1  my  brother.  But  my  hus- 
band— if  ever  I  have  one — must  be  more  ready  to  shield 
than  be  shielded.  He  must  have  that  deepest  grace 
which  comes  from  power,  tempered  with  gentleness.  He 
must  be  strong  with  moral  strength,  and  wise  with  heaven- 
ly wisdom ;  and  whatever  sort  of  face  he  wears,  it  must  be 
transfigured  with  the  inward  beauty  of  an  earnest,  loving 
spirit,  a  disciplined  will,  and  a  symmetrically  developed  in- 
tellect. In  short,  he  must  be  like — but  what  am  I  think- 
ing of ! — like  no  one  that  I  have  ever  seen,  except  through 
the  beautifying,  magnifying  glass  of  ideality — a  truth  dis- 
covered too  late.  And  yet — ah  !  yes,  my  father  ! — how 
often  has  thy  memory  arisen  between  me  and  bitter,  sweep- 
ing distrust  of  mankind  ! — how  tenderly  does  thine  image 
set  itself  to  rekindle  the  failing  fire  of  faith  in  human  good- 
ness, on  the  hearthstone  of  my  heart !  Better  man  than 
thou  no  woman  need  dream  of,  nor  desire  to  find  ! 

I  had  forgotten  everything — the  Bryers,  the  bower, 
Rick's  presence,  Carrie's  absence — everything  but  my 
father's  face,  smiling  upon  me  more  tenderly  than  Italian 
skies  ;  my  father's  voice,  rich  and  sweet  with  the  honey  of 
wisdom,  hived  through  long,  serene  years  of  patient 
thought  and  loving  research.  It  cost  me  no  small  effort, 
therefore,  to  grasp  the  present  again,  and  bring  it  home  to 
my  mind  with  the  necessary  distinctness,  when  Rick  sud- 
denly broke  the  silence. 

"  Miss  Frost,  may  I  ask  you  how  long  you  are  to  re- 
main in  Shiloh  ?  " 
13 


290 

"  I  really  cannot  say.     Some  weeks  longer,  certainly." 

"  And  I  may  not  be  able  to  come  up  again  for  three 
months  !  " 

Accepting  the  remark  as  conclusive,  I  did  not  answer 
it ;  but  sought  covertly  to  take  out  a  tear  from  each  eye, 
that  had  welled  up  from  the  deep  fountains  so  lately 
stirred.  Rick  drew  nearer,  and  spoke  again. 

"  I  have  read  some\vhere  that  parting  is  '  sweet  sorrow.' 
But  it  can  only  be  so,  I  fancy,  to  those  who  are  certain,  or 
hopeful,  of  meeting  again.  When  and  where  may  I  ex- 
pect to  meet  you  again,  Miss  Frost  ?  " 

"  We  will  leave  that  to  time  and  chance,  if  you  please," 
I  answered,  lightly. 

"  Time  and  Chance,"  he  responded,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, "  are  not  the  deities  I  should  choose  to  preside  over 
this  matter.  To  be  sure,  they  have  been  kinder  to  me,  in 
bringing  about  this  most  unexpected  meeting,  than  I  had 
dared  to  hope.  But  they  are  capricious  divinities,  at  best. 
Mere  acquaintanceship  can  invoke  them,  if  it  likes  ;  but 
they  will  not  do  for — a  stronger  feeling." 

Instinctively,  though  vaguely,  I  comprehended  that 
something  was  impending  which  it  would  better  please  me 
to  avert.  I  rose,  therefore,  and  moved  toward  the  entrance, 
remarking,  carelessly, — "  I  think  we  may  as  well  'go.  I 
have  done  the  '  Bower '  thoroughly ;  I  took  it  all  in,  roof, 
floor,  foliage,  tendrils,  green  grapes,  mosses,  cracks  in  the 
seat,  and  gaps  in  the  walls,  while  you  were  in  a  brown 
study  just  now;  and  I  have  waited  for  Carrie  as  long  as 
she  can  reasonably  expect.  I  doubt  if  she  is  coming  at  all ; 
probably  your  mother  detained  her  until  she  thought  it  too 
late  to  start." 

My  action  only  seemed  to  precipitate  the  communication 
it  was  designed  to  prevent.  Rick  placed  himself  directly 
in  "my  path,  and  put  forth  a  detaining  hand. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  he,  hurriedly.    "  Listen  to  me  a  moment 
— indeed  you  must.    I  have  no  right,  I  know,  upon  so  short 


SHILOH.  291 

* 

an  acquaintance,  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you,  and  yet," — he 
stopped  and  drew  a  long  breath, — "  it  is  true ! " 

Dismayed,  confounded,  at  so  sudden  and  unlooked-for 
a  crisis,  I  stood  silent,  uncertain  what  tone  it  were  best  to 
take.  He  went  on,  with  scarcely  a  moment's  pause. 

"  Still,  if  I  had  known  when  and  where  I  might  expect 
to  see  you  again,  I  would  not  have  spoken  now.  But  I 
could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  part  from  you  a  second 
time,  and  leave  our  future  meeting,  and  future  relation,  to 
mere  accident.  I  was  loth  enough  to  do  it  last  wrinter. 
Yet  my  feeling  for  you,  then,  was  only  admiration,  esteem, 
liking, — the  dawn  of  love, — while  now!  There  are  hours, 
you  know,  that  do  the  work  of  weeks,  of  months.  Such  an 
Hour  was  yesterday's  sunset,  and  those  delightful  moments 
in  the  cave,  and  this  morning's  quiet  talk  in  the  porch. 
Under  such  influences, love  springs  up  as  quickly  as  Jonah's 
gourd,  though  not,  I  beg  you  to  believe,  with  so  evanescent 
a  growth.  But  I  did  not,  I  do  not,  mean  to  press  my  suit 
upon  you  now.  You  cannot  feel  more  strongly  than  I  do 
that  you  ought  to  know  me  better  before  trusting  your 
happiness  in  my  hands.  Indeed,  I  acknowledge  frankly 
that,  at  this  moment,  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  Not 
because  my  life  has  any  depths  which  I  would  hide  from 
your  eyes,  but  because  it  has,  as  yet,  no  heights  which 
I  can  point  out  to  them  with  pride.  I  only  ask  your  per- 
mission to  pursue  the  acquaintance  so  happily  begun,  so 
fortunately  continued.  Give  me  opportunity  to  show  you, 
not  only  what  I  am,  but  what  I  can  be,  with  the  stimulus 
of  your  eyes  upon  me.  Give  me  time  and  opportunity 
to  win  your  love."  . 

The  unexpected  manliness  and  generosity  of  this  speech 
touched  me.  .  Nevertheless,  I  had  decided  that  it  would  be 
better  not  to  treat  the  matter  seriously.  So  I  said,  quietly, 
dropping,  for  the  first  time,  the  formal  "  Mr.  Thorne,"  by 
which  I  had  always  addressed  him, — 

"  Rick,  how  old  are  you  ?  " 


292  SIIILOII. 

He  looked  surprised,  even — as  was  natural  enough — a 
little  annoyed.  "  I  am — I  shall  be  twenty-one  in  three 
months." 

"  And  I  am  past  twenty-four."  I  spoke  in  a  tone  to 
imply  that  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter.  And  again  I 
rose  to  go. 

"  If  you  think  that  makes  any  difference  to  me,"  said 
Rick,  quickly,  "  you  mistake  me  much.  I  love  you  just  as 
you  are, — I  would  not  have  you  any  different,  by  a  day  or 
an  hour.  And  I  promise  you  that  the  outward  discrep- 
ancy— if  there  is  any — shall  totally  disappear  in  a  year  or 
two.  If  you  will  only  let  me,  I  will  make  your  life  so 
happy  that  youth  shall  linger  with  you,  loth  to  go,  long 
after  its  usual  time  for  flight.  And  the  -care  of  your  hap- 
piness, the  thinking  and  planning  and  working  for  it,  will 
so  quickly  bring  out  all  the  manhood  in  me — will  make  me 
so  steady,  so  grave,  so  mature,  that  I  shall  soon  seem  the 
elder  of  the  two.  Ah  !  see  what  you  will  thus  do  for  me  ! 
you  will  give  me. higher  aims  and  new  strength.  Without 
you,  my  life  will' remain  objectless,  valueless.  With  you 
arid  through  you,  all  pleasant  possibilities  of  growth,  of 
achievement,  of  usefulness,  of  happiness,  open  to  me." 

No  doubt  he  believed  what  he  said.  For  the  moment  I 
half  believed  it,  too.  The  warm  tide  of  his  earnestness 
bore  me  on  with  it  irresistibly.  And  suddenly  Mala  stood 
beside  me,  whispering  in  my  ear. 

"What  better  mission  than  this  does  tho  world  now" 
hold  for  you  ?  "  she  asked,  with  an  indescribable  mixture  of 
seriousness  and  sarcasm.  "  Your  life  is  bereft  of  its  future  ; 
why  not  devote  it  to  bettering  the  future  of  another! 
You  will  never  love  again,  with  the  depths  and  heighths 
of  your  nature  :  why  not  be  content  with  the  quiet,  careful, 
elder-sisterly  affection  that  you  might  bring  yourself  to  feel 
for  Rick  Thorne !  Be  his  providence,  and  take  his  destiny 
into  your  hands.  Repeat  the  grand  miracle  of  the  creation  ; 
breathe  vital,  inspiring,  strengthening  breath  into  this  beau- 


SHILOH.  293 

tiful  clay.  Supplement  his  grace  with  your  strength,  his 
brilliancy  with  your  depth,  his  amiability  with'  your  con- 
scientiousness, his  easy  temper  with  your  steadfastness,  his 
impulsiveness  with  your  patience.  In  short,  make  a  MAN 
of  him,  and  find  your  reward  in  your  work.  Many  a  better 
woman  might  be  glad  of  the  chance." 

BOXA  (with  slow  emphasis).  Perhaps  you  have  all  those 
good  qualities  in  the  measure  required.  I  hope  so.  For, 
very  strong  you  need  to  be  to  undertake  the  work  of  God's 
good  providence !  Very  deep,  to  be  able  to  sink  the  lie 
you  would  live  out  of  the  reach  of  your  own  self-condem- 
nation !  Very  conscientious,  to  walk  unscathed  through 
the  fiery  furnace  of  wedded  life,  bare  of  undoubted  wedded 
love  !  Very  steadfast,  to  keep  memory  always  muzzled, 
and  regret  ever  at  bay !  Very  patient,  to  wait  till  good 
comes  of  doing  evil !  Many  a  better  woman  might  shrink 
from  the  trial. 

MALA  (going  on,  after  a  moment,  as  if  Bona  had  not 
spoken}.  You  ought  to  consider  yourself,  too,  somewhat. 
Home,  in  the  sweetest  sense  of  the  word,  you  have  none. 
Your  family  ties  are  few,  and  Time  will  make  them  fewer. 
Your  duties  are  vague  and  scattered — a  bit  here,  a  bit 
there. '  Your  objects  take  no  definite  hold  on  the  future. 
In  pity  to  yourself,  give  yourself  a  home,  a  tie,  a  duty,  an 
object,  for  life ! 

BOXA.  A  home  unhallowed — a  tie  with  a  rotten  thread 
.  in  it — a  duty  full  of  an  endless  discouragement — an  object 
quick  with  a  gnawing  dissatisfaction. 

The  words  came  faintly,  as  if  from  afar. 

MALA  (Impatiently).  Well !  suppose  it  is  all  true — what 
nave  you  better  now  ?  You  cannot  be  worse  ofl"  than  you 
are. 

BONA  (drawing  near).  And  if  ever  Paul  Venner — 

I  started  and  shuddered.  "  Rick,"  I  said,  drearily,  "  it 
cannot  be.  The  truth  is,  I  have  no  heart  to  give  you." 

"  You  are  engaged  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 


294  SHILOH. 

"  No ;  but — I  was — that  is  to  say,  I  came  very  near  to 
being  so — once." 

"  I  see.  You  have  had  a  bereavement,  or  a  disappoint- 
ment. No  matter — grief  yields  to  time — I  can  wait. 
Hereafter,  when — " 

I  interrupted  him.  "  There  are  cases  when  apparent 
harshness  is  true  tenderness.  This  is  one  of  them.  I  tell 
you  frankly,  that  there  can  be  no  hereafter  in  this  matter. 
It  must  be  ended,  now  and  here." 

He  looked  at  me  quietly  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  have 
•no  doubt  you  believe  what  you  say.  You  are  cruel  upon 
principle.  But  I  shall  cherish  hope,  though  you  give  none. 
Some  day  you  will  find  your  heart  empty.  Then,  seeing 
my  love  so  ready,  so  patient,  so  true,  you  will  open  the 
door  and  let  it  in." 

"  Hush,  Rick  !  How  can  I  make  you  understand  with- 
out giving  you  needless  pain  ?  Our  natures  were  never 
made  nor  meant  to  be  joined  together.  In  all  that  you 
have  said  to  me,  there  is  an  intuitive,  probably  an  uncon- 
scious, recognition  of  this  fact.  Such  a  union  would  have 
no  firm  foundation  in  natural  fitness.  Doubtless,  I  might 
have  loved  you  very  tenderly  as  a  sister,  very  faithfully  as 
a  friend,  but  as  a  wife,  wifely — never !  Say  no  more — 
further  words  on  this  subject  can  only  be  painful  to  both 
of  us." 

•  He  looked  at  me  fixedly  for  some  moments — then  turned 
away  his  face.  I  heard  a  deep-drawn  breath, — almost  a  sob. 
If  he  would  only  stand  aside  from  the  entrance  and  let  me 
vanish  quietly !  As  it  was,  I  could  do  nothing  but  avert 
my  gaze  and  wait.  There  was  a  long  silence,  which  the 
birds  filled  up»  at  their  leisure. 

By  and  by,  he  lifted  his  head. 

"  At  least,  we  can  be  friends,"  said  he.  "  You  will  let 
me  write  to  you.  You  will  allow  me  to  keep  within  the 
sphere  of  your  good  influence.  Be  what  you  just  "said  you 
might  have  been — my  tender  sister,  my  faithful  friend ! " 


SHILOH.  295 

I  sent  a  prophetic  glance  down  through  the  future.  He 
would  begin  by  sending  me  mournful  outpourings  of  hope- 
less love ;  his  letters  would  pass  through  the  several  grada- 
tions of  tender  melancholy,  devoted  attachment,  easy  friend- 
liness, uneasy  indifference  (briefly  struggled  with),  and 
finally  cease.  I  had  watched  the  course  of  two  or  three 
such  friendships — if  they  deserve  the  name — among  my 
acquaintance ;  there  was  no  room  for  self-deception  as  to 
their  way,  their  influence,  or  their  end. 

MALA.  Well !  what  harm  ?  The  matter  will  thus  be 
disposed  of  without  giving  him  any  sudden  wrench,  any 
severe,  racking  struggle.  And  his  friendship  will  be  very 
pleasant  while  it  lasts.  And  he  will  never  take  deep  hold 
enough  of  your  life  to  be  missed  when  he  is  gone. 

BO^A.-  And  he  will  have  lost  all  faith  in  himself,  bein^ 

7  O 

proved  so  weak ;  all  faith  in  any  human  love,  having  seen 
the  slow  fading  out  of  his  own.  Far  better  for  him  to 
wrestle  with  it  and  conquer  it  nobly,  as  love,  than  to  sit 
down  supinely  and  wait  for  it  to  waste  away,  under  other 
names,  into  nothingness  !  No  man  was  ever  harmed  by 
conquering  a  misplaced  or  unrequited  affection  f  but  many 
a  heart  has  been  irretrievably  vitiated  by  indulging  one, 
harboring  it  long  under  divers  disguises  and  through  many 
transformations,  growing  tired  of  it,  arid  finally  losing  it  by 
the  natural  process  of  decay.  Over  the  grave  of  such  a 
love  no  fragrant  memorL'S  blossom,  no  soul  grows  tender, 
no  life  grows  pure  and  strong ! 

I  turned  to  Rick.  "  Forgive  me  if  I  seem  inapprecia- 
tive,  ungrateful.  It.  is  just  because  I  am  your  true  friend, 
at  heart,  that  I  beg  to  decline  the  outward  relation ; — at 
least,  until  you  have  come  to  feel  only  friendship  for  me. 
If  I  did  otherwise,  how  could  I  look  your  future  wife  in  the 
face  ?  " 

"  My  wife  !  "  he  repeated,  bitterly,  "  I  shall  never  have 
any." 

"  Allow  me  to  hope  and  believe  that  you  will ;  and  all 


20  SHILOII. 

the  sooner  that  you  are  not  encouraged  to  waste  any  of  the 
best  of  your  heart  upon  me,  under  the  mask  of  friendship. 
The  affection  which  we  conquer,  we  keep  intact  for  a  better, 
brighter,  holier  occasion  ;  that  which  we  indulge  unwisely, 
we  are  apt  to  fritter  away  piecemeal." 

"  Ah,"  returned  Rick,  "  if  you  were  only  as  wise  for 
yourself  as  for  me,  you  would — " 

Carrie's  voice  cut  the  sentence  short.  She  was  coming 
along  the  path,  singing  a  cheery  snatch  of  song.  Yielding 
to  a  sudden,  foolish  impulse,  Rick  dashed  through  the  side 
of  the  bower, — a  seemingly  impervious  mass  of  vines.  I 
looked  after  him  with  a  momentary  fear ;  but  the  flexible 
branches  had  yielded  and  closed  again,  as  if  only  a  bird  had 
passed.  Almost  immediately,  Cai'rie  appeared  at  the 
entrance. 

"  Where  is  Rick  ?  "  she  asked,  in  wonder. 

"  Looking  for  the  fauns  and  dryads,"  I  responded,  di'ily. 
"  They  will  acknowledge  him  as  of  kin — when  he  finds 
them  !  lie  went  through  that  wall  of  vines,  just  now,  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  establish  an  indisputable  claim  to  their 
relation  ship." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Carrie,  with  a  knowing  look,  "  he  has  hid- 
den, and  means  to  surprise  or  to  frighten  me.  It  is  an  old 
freak.  How  could  you  betray  him  ? 

I  was  delighted  with  the  plausible  explanation.  "  Let 
us  steal  a  march  on  him,  and  go  home,"  said  I. 

Carrie  would  have  preferred  to  wait.  She  had  a  mind 
for  her  brother's  society,  and  did  not  suspect  that,  just  then, 
he  had  no  mind  for  hers.  Novertheless,  as  she  is  one  oi 
those  gentle,  self-sacrificing  beings,  whose  chief  use  of  their 
wills  is  to  furnish  pleasant  parallels  to  other  and  stronger 
ones,  she  yielded.  Quickly  we  left  the  wood  shadow  and 
seclusion  behind  us.  I  drew  a  breath  of  relief  as  we 
emerged  from  it  into  the  open  meadow  and  the  sunshine. 


XXVIII. 


DKEGS. 

HE  worst  part  of  our  nature  is  seldom  slow 
to  revenge  itself  upon  the  best.  After 
any  strain  of  moral  heroism,  comes  an 
inevitable  reaction.  The  soul  that  has  strug- 
gled up  the  Mount  of  Trial  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  is  wofully  apt  to  slide  down 
the  corresponding  declivity  in  the  grasp  of 
Satan.  Sometimes,  I  think,  the  devil  even  joins 
in  the  good  work  of  pushing  us  up,  that  the  impetus  thus 
gained  may  enable  him  the  more  easily  to  thrust  us  down. 
He  helps  to  build  up  our  characters  to  some  lofty  height  of 
virtue,  in  order  that  they  may  the  more  surely  topple  over 
into  some  small  neighboring  pit  of  vice.  He  does  not 
scruple  to  aid  us  in  girding  up  our  loins  to  the  battle,  that 
the  bivouac  may  fall  more  completely  under  his  control. 

I  left  Bona  in  "  The  Bower."  On  the  way  back,  I  took 
bitter  counsel  with  Mala.  She  offered  a  possible  solution 
of  the  problem  that  perplexed  me ;  also  a  suggestion  or 
two,  upon  which  I  acted  in  due  time. . 

As  we  neared  the  house,  I  observed  Mrs.  Thorne  seated 
ut  her  window,  sewing.  It  is  a  noteworthy  circumstance 
that  she  is  always  sewing,  in  a  characteristic  fashion.  She 
sets  stitches  with  the  ease  and  regularity  of  a  machine, 
and  with  as  little  apparent  interest  in  the  process.  She  un- 
dertakes nothing  that  exacts  close  attention — thought  of 
*13 


298  SHILOH. 

brain  as  well  as  motion  of  hand  ;  she  chooses  rather  straight 
seams,  bands,  and  hems, — work  which  keeps  the  fingers 
busy  and  leaves  the  mind  free  ;  which  furnishes  ready  ex- 
cuse for  dropping  her  eyes,  upon  occasions,  yet  allows 
them  full  liberty  to  wander  when  there  is  anything  to  re- 
ward observation. 

She  regarded  Carrie  and  me  from  her  outlook  with 
some  surprise,  some  perplexity.  Doubtless,  Rick's  non- 
appearance  with  us  struck  her  as  a  somewhat  singular  cir- 
cumstance. Possibly,  too,  she  discerned  something  in  my 
face  or  manner  suggestive  of  unexpected  complications ;  for, 
in  matters  affecting  her  own  interests,  her  perceptions  are 
as  quick  and  subtle  as  the  electric  fluid.  Nevertheless,  by 
the  time  I  had  ascended  to  her  room  (leaving  Carrie  in  the 
porch  below,  looking  out  for  her  brother),  I  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  read  thought  or  emotion  in  the  immovable 
features  of  the  Sphinx.  Save  for  the  bland  smile  that  ever 
plays  about  her  lips — affording  as  much  real  warmth  to  the 
heart  as  a  phosphoric  glimmer  would  to  the  finger-ends — 
she  was  absolutely  statuesque. 

"  Mrs.  Thorne,"  I  began  abruptly,  "  did  you  ever  hap- 
pen to  hear  of  my  cousin — Wilhelmina  Frost  ?  " 

She  searched  her  memory  rapidly,  "  No,  I  believe  not. 
Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because,  madam,  she  is  better  worth  your  acquaint- 
ance than  I  am.  She  is  young,  beautiful,  accomplished, 
and — chiefest  grace  of  all ! — rich.  Perhaps  you  are  not 
aware  that  there  were  three  of  the  Frost  brothers.  The 
eldest  left  home  early ;  he  led  a  wandering,  erratic  life  for 
years  ;  he  married  late,  in  India.  lie  died  there,  not  long 
since,  leaving  a  large  fortune  to  his  only  surviving  child — 
a  daughter  ; — and  both  to  the  guardianship  of  her,  and  my, 
uncle — John  Frost.  According  to  the  terms  of  her  father's 
will,  she  resides  alternately  with  him  and  the  relatives  of, 
her  mother.  She  is  now  with  the  latter  in  a  western 
city." 


SHILOH.  299 

"  Ah ! "  said  Mrs.  Thorne,  meditatively.  The  tone 
indicated  that  she  had,  at  last,  found  the  key  to  a 
puzzle. 

"  Moreover,"  I  went  on,  with  a  blind,  bitter,  foolish  ir- 
ritation ;  partly  due  to  the  natural  revulsion  of  feeling, 
overwrought  during  ray  recent  interview  with  Rick,  and 
partly  to  my  utter  detestation  of  the  motives  and  designs 
which — rightly  or  wrongly — I  now  attributed  to  Mrs. 
Thorne  in  bringing  us  together ; — "  moreover,  she  is 
heart-free  (so  far  as  I  know,  at  least) — which  I  am  not.  Or 
it  might  be  more  to  the  point  to  say  that  my  heart — all 
that  is  best  of  it — is  dead  and  buried." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  spoken  ere  I  repented  of  them. 
What  folly  to  lay  bare  the  hidden  workings  of  my  life, — 
its  secret  grievances,  trials,  disappointments, — to  a  woman 
like  Mrs.  Thorne,— a  mere  calculating  machine,  without 

7  O  t 

heart,  sympathy,  or  conscience, — who  would  at  once  pro- 
ceed to  incorporate  them  with  her  own  schemes  and  use 
them  unscrupulously  to  further  her  own  ends,  if  she  found 
them  anywise  capable  of  such  subserviency  ;  or  else  throw 
them  out  on  the  highway,  to  be  ground  into  the  dust  by 
every  passing  wheel.  However,  having  given  myself  up, 
utterly,  into  the  hands  of  Mala,  for  the  time,  I  could  think 
of  no  better  way  of  mending  the  matter  than  by  aiming  a 
threat  at  Mrs.  Thome's  maternal  pride,  and  so  enlisting  it 
on  my  side.  I  went  on,  therefore,  with  still  intenser  bit- 
terness, because  mingled  with  self-contempt. 

"  However,  as  you  may  imagine,  this  is  a  part  of  my 
history  which  I  do  not  care  to  put  into  the  possession  of 
Madam  Rumor.  If  I  find  it  there,  by  any  means  directly 
or  indirectly  traceable  to  this  conversation,  I  shall  consider 
myself  at  liberty  to  offset  it  with  a  part  of  your  son's, 
— namely,  that  I  have  just  declined  the  honor  of  his 
hand." 

She  gave  so  genuine  and  unmistakable  a  start  of  sur- 
prise, that,  for  a  moment,  it  confounded  all  my  conclu- 


300  8HILOII. 

sions.  She  had  not  expected  this  climax,  then  ?  Or,  was 
it  merely  that  she  had  not  expected  it  so  .soon  ?  I  inclined 
to  the  latter  supposition,  inasmuch  as,  after  that  first  gleam 
of  surprise  had  passed,  and  the  momentary  Hush  of  resent- 
ment which  succeeded  it  had  faded  from  her  cheek,  I  fan- 
cied I  could  detect,  in  her  countenance,  the  serenity  of  easy 
acceptance ;  not  altogether  devoid  of  satisfaction.  Proba- 
bly, as  matters  had  turned  out,  she  was  relieved  to  find 
the  affair  ended  so  soon,  and  thus.  It  would  save  trouble. 

While  she  reflected,  I  stood  regarding  her  with  a  chill 
and  creeping  of  the  flesh  ;  as  at  something  not  quite  hu- 
man. A  curious  piece  of  flesh-and-blood  mechanism,  in-, 
formed  with  thought  and  will,  but  entirely  destitute  of  af- 
fections, sympathies,  emotions  !  It  was  plain  that  she  con- 
sidered the  subject  purely  in  a  material  way,  as  a  question 
of  social  or  pecuniary  advantage  and  loss;  for  her,  its 
moral  or  emotional  side  did  not  exist. 

I  am  aware  that  my  sketch  of  Mrs.  Thome's  character 
may  justly  be  accused  of  exaggeration.  It  is  all  the  truer, 
on  that  account.  There  are  people  whom  it  is  nearly  im- 
possible not  to  overdraw.  Abhorrence,  like  anger,  can  sel- 
dom be  restrained  within  absolutely  just  limits.  Take  it 
with  what  abatement  you  think  fit. 

When  she  spoke,  it  was  in  the  smoothest,  blandest  of 
tones,  carefully  ignoring  everything  in  my  words  or  man- 
ner that  might  have  constituted  a  cause  of  offence.  "  I  am 
very  sorry  to  hear  it.  Not  that  I  blame  you  in  the  least, 
my  dear, — of  course  you  could  have  done  nothing  else  un- 
der the  circumstances, — but  I  regret  that  Rick  should  have 
been  so  precipitate,  and  that  you  should  have  been  so  an- 
noyed. But  he  is  very  young  and  impulsive,  and  you  are  " 
— she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  I  fancied  there  was  a  faint 
tinge  of  sarcasm  in  the  tone  wherewith  she  finished  the 
sentence — "  very  attractive.  I  think  you  can  afford  to  for- 
give him  for  the  compliment  (for  such  it  was, after  all),  not- 
withstanding it  was  a  little  ill-timed.  Allow  me  to  say, 


SHILOH  301 

furthermore,  that  it  gratifies  me  to  know  that  your  rejec- 
tion was  based  on  grounds  quite  disconnected  with  his 
merits,  and  that  I  shall,  of  course,  respect  every  confidence 
with  which  you  have  honored  me, — and  so  we  will  dismiss 
the  subject  and  forget  it !  " 

She  paused,  as  if  expecting  a  reply,  but  as  I  made  none, 
she  continued,  after  a  moment, 

"  Let  me  trust  that  this  untoward  little  incident  may 
not  interrupt  the  course  of  the  acquaintance  so  pleasantly 
begun.  Rick  leaves  us  this  afternoon,  you  know,  and  will 
not  return  for  some  months.  And  Carrie  takes  such  a 
fancy  to  you  ! — you  seem  to  have  bewitched  both  my  chil- 
dren !  And  I  own  that  I  had  hoped  for  much  benefit  to 
Carrie  from  your  society.  '  She  really  has  none,  at  present. 
I  am,  perhaps,  needlessly  particular  about  her  associates ; 
but  I  want  her  to  retain  the  tone  and  manner  of  the  sphere 
in  which  I  moved  so  long,  and  I  am  afraid  she  might  lose 
it,  if  she  mingled  too  freely  with  Shiloh  people.  Not," — 
she  hastened  to  say  ;  as  if  conscious  that  this  implied  too 
sweeping  a  censure,  or  she  might  have  seen  the  involuntary 
curl  of  my  lip, — "  not  that  I  suppose  there  are  no  persons 
here  with  whom  she  might  fitly  associate ;  but,  as  I  never 
go  out  myself,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing  who  they  are, 
so  I  have  preferred  to  keep  her  at  home  altogether.  If  re- 
port says  true,  your  heart  opens  freely  enough  to  any  claim 
upon  its  kindness — if  not  upon  its  deeper  affection.  Do 
me  the  favor,  as  an  old  friend  of  your  father,  to  number 
her  among  your  friends,  or  proteges  !  " 

To  say  truth,  I  never  felt  less  inclined  to  confer  a  favor 
in  my  life,  "  That,"  said  I,  coldly,  "  must  be  as  circum- 
stances determine.  Friendships  are  apt  to  take  their  own 
course." 

"  True,"  she  returned,  with  imperturbable  good-humor, 
"  and  I  think  yours  will  set  towards  Carrie,  if  allowed  to 
take  its  own  course.  She  is  both  lovable  and  loving, — ca- 
pable of  blind  adoration  and  unquestioning  trust  to  a  de- 


302  SHILOH. 

gree  which,  to  a  person  as  old  and  worn  and  disillusionized 
as  I  am,  seems  absolutely  Quixotic." 

I  was  well  aware  of  it.  And  it  was  an  endless  riddle 
to  me  how  a  character  so  gentle,  so  trustful,  so  affection- 
ate as  Carrie's,  and  one  so  frank,  careless  and  buoyant  as 
Rick's,  could  have  sprung  from  the  dark  and  tortuous  wind- 
ings of  Mrs.  Thome's  nature.  Neither,  it  was  certain, 
could  be  in  her  confidence,  nor  aid  directly  in  her  pro- 
jects. Still,  I  would  promise  nothing,  on  Carrie's  behalf; 
though  I  foresaw,  clearly  enough,  that  if  she  chose  to  seek 
me  out,  and  cling  to  me,  I  should  not  have  the  heart  to 
cast  her  off.  The  worst  of  it  would  be  that  I  should  sus- 
pect that  the  seeking  was  partly,  if  not  mainly,  the  result 
of  the  mother's  promptings ;  and  I  should  be  sure  that 
it  was  entirely  in  accordance  with  the  mother's  aims. 

But  why  did  Mrs.  Thorne  desire  the  continuance  of  the 
acquaintance  ?  "VVonderingly  I  asked  the  question.  Mala 
furnished  me  with  an  answer — -conjcctui'al,  of  course.  Mrs. 
Thome's  cold  egotism  quietly  swallows  or  rejects  whatever 
comes  in  its  way, — men,  women,  events,  possibilities, — ac- 
cording as  they  can,  or  cannot,  be  made  instrumental  to 
the  attainment  of  her  own  ends.  With  hei',  feelings,  sen- 
sibilities, principles,  prejudices,  affections,  go  for  nothing, 
except  as  they  count  for  or  against  her  own  game.  My  re- 
jection of  Rick  weighed  not  the  value  of  a  grain  of  dust 
against  the  possibility  of  my  being  of  future  use  to  her. 
Through  me,  Rick  might  yet  be  presented  to  the  young 
heiress  with  whom  she  had,  at  first,  confounded  me. 
Through  me,  Carrie  might  be  brought  into  contact  with 
a  sphere  of  society  that  she  had  no  other  present  means  of 
reaching  unto.  Mrs.  Thorne  would  put  no  card  out  of  her 
hand  which  might  ultimately  win  her  a  trick.  So  I  rea- 
soned,— with  what  disgust,  both  at  her  and  myself,  it  is  im- 
possible to  say ! 

Rick's  voice  now  sounded  from  the  porch,  low,  listless, 
dispirited.  With  it  Carrie's  gentle,  loving  tones  went 


SHILOH.  303 

twisting  in  and  out,  in  silken  threads  of  regret,  explana- 
tion, and  sympathy.  Evidently  she  believed  that  his  mood 
was  due  to  that  recent  running  away  from  him,  of  which 
she  fancied  herself  to  be  guilty — never  once  imagining, 
guileless  little  soul !  that  it  was  he  who  had  fled  from  her, 
blindly,  recklessly.  His  replies  were  vague  and  preoccu- 
pied. He  was  glad  enough,  doubtless,  to  find  that  he  was 
supposed  to  be  the  victim  rather  than  the  culprit ;  and  that 
explanation  was  to  be  received  instead  of  given ;  but  his 
mood  did  not  clear  up,  and  Carrie  was  disconsolate  and  re- 
morseful. Seldom  is  mortal  blessed  with  such  entire  devo- 
tion and  unlimited  faith  as  she  gave  to  this  brother.  In 
her  eyes,  he  could  have  no  fault.  That  was  the  one  prin- 
ciple at  the  centre  of  all  things.  So  secure  was  she  of  his 
right,  that  she  took  it  for  granted  that .  she,  and  everybody 
else,  was  wrong. 

Mrs.  Thorne  offered  no  further  opposition — except  such 
as  the  merest  courtesy  required — to  my  departure.  The 
whole  household,  with  the  notable  exceptions  of  Dr.  Bryer 
and  the  saturnine  bachelor,  Mortimer,  assembled  in  the 
porch  for  the  ceremony  of  leave-taking.  Mrs.  Thorne, 
with  her  most  gracious  air  of  the  courteous  hostess  ;  Miss 
Bryer,  with  real  kindliness  of  heart  under  her  formal  man- 
ners ;  Rick,  leaning  with  folded  arms  against  the  dilapi- 
dated pillar,  and  looking  after  me  moodily  ;  Carrie,  hanging 
round  me  affectionately  to  the  last  moment,  promising  to 
come  and  see  me  soon  ;  and,  finally,  the  idiots,  catching  up 
every  farewell  word  and  courteous  phrase,  and  repeating 
it  over  and  over,  like  a  couple  of  parrots. 

I  went  slowly  down  the  hill,  and  wondered  if  it  were 
true  that  only  a  day  and  night  had  passed  since  I  climbed 
it !  A  day  and  night  of  quick-flowing  events — of  interest 
approaching  to  excitement — of  something  which,  if  it  were 
not  pleasure,  went,  far  to  fill  its  place,  in  a  monotonous  life. 
I  felt  a  strange  dislike  to  go  back  to  the  old,  quiet  routint1. 
Doubt  and  discouragement  took  possession  of  me.  Woul.l 


304:  SHILOH. 

not  my  life  have  been  richer,  at  least,  if  not  happier,  if  I 
had  admitted  into  it  that  prospect  opened  to  me  by  Fred- 
erick Thorne  ?  Had  I  really  done  well  in  refusing  so  de- 
cisively his  love — his  friendship — the  opportunity  for  doing 
him  good  ?  I  declare  to  you,  Francesca,  that,  as  I  went 
moodily  down  the  hill  that  day,  I  could  not  tell ! 

Of  one  thing  only  was  I  tolerably  certain — that  I  thor- 
oughly despised  myself.  After  taking  so  high  a  tone  with 
Rick,  it  was  humiliating  to  have  descended  into  the  depths 
of  meanness  with  his  mother.  Yet,  as  human  beings  are 
prone  to  do,  I  excused  myself  by  blaming  her.  There  are 
some  natures  (I  argued)  that  inevitably  soil  and  degrade 
whatever  comes  in  contact  with  them.  There  are  certain 
moral  atmospheres,  through  which  we  are  quick  to  detect 
evil  and  slow  to  recognize  good,  or  they  hopelessly  confuse 
and  confound  the  two.  It  must  be  a  mind  of  steady  poise 
or  of  very  little  susceptibility  to  influence,  that  can  main- 
tain such  intercourse  without  harm.  I  felt  that  I  detested 
Mrs.  Thorne,  and  all  the  more  because  some  perverse  part 
of  my  nature  had  shown  itself  so  unexpectedly  amenable 
to  her  influence. 

In  such  a  mood,  I  reached  the  gate  of  the  Divine  home- 
stead. As  usual,  Uncle  True  was  at  the  woodpile,  chop- 
ping wood.  Mrs.  Prescott  was  also  there,  picking  up 
chips  in  her  apron.  Both  watched  me  as  I  came  up  the 
road,  and  Uncle  True  laid  down  his  axe. 

"  Good  mornin',  Miss  Frost.     Had  a  good  time  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know — yes — I  believe  so." 

"  Sorry  you  ain't  sure  on't,1'  returned  he,  wiping  his 
brow.  "  Howsomever,  it's  a  door  that's  got  more'n  one 
hinge  to  swing  on, — a  good  un,  a  bad  un,  and  another  be- 
tween 'em  that's  neither  one  nor  t'other,  but  passable. 
And  that's  the  hinge  that  things  swing  on  the  most, — 
thank  the  Lord  !  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  thank  the  Lord  for  in  that," 
said  Mrs.  Prescott,  shortly. 


•   SHILOH.  305 

"  "Wall,"  replied  Uncle  True,  "  Agur,  the  son  of  Jakeh, 
did.  He  said,  '  Lord,  give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches' ; 
and  I  kinder  think  he  meant  suthin'  more'n  the  sort  of  pov- 
erty and  riches  you  carry  in  your  pocket.  I  reckon  most 
on  us  might  pray,  '  Lord,  give  me  neither  a  good  time  nor 
a  bad  'un,  but  jest  kinder  passable,'  with  good  reason. 
For,  you  see,  in  a  good  time  we're  apt  to  forget  the  Lord 
that  sent.it ;  and  though  a  bad  'un  may  drive  us  to  think 
of  Him  a  leetle  more,  still — wall,  we  don't  any  of  us  exact- 
ly hanker  arter  trouble,  you  know  !  " 

"  Children  don't  cry  after  picry,  as  a  general  thing," 
responded  Mrs.  Prescott,  drily.  Then  she  turned  to  me. 
"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Thorne  ?  "  she  asked, 
abruptly. 

"  Mrs.  Prescott,  I  don't  think  of  her — at  least,  not 
now." 

"  Umph  !  "  said  Mrs.  Prescott,  "  any  one  who  can't 
translate  that  into,  '  Least  said  is  soonest  mended,'  had 
better  go  and  sell  his  head  for  a  soap  dish  !  "  And,  put- 
ting a  final  chip  into  her  apron,  she  marched  into  the 
house. 

Uncle  True  gave  no  heed  to  this  little  episode,  but  went 
on  with  his  own  train  of  thought,  not  stopping  to  supply 
the  missing  links.  "  There's  that  bird,  yonder,  in  the  ma- 
ple ;  there's  no  doubt  about  his  havin'  a  good  time,  is  there 
now  ?  Jest  hear  him  sing  !  " 

There  was  no  question  about  it,  whatever.  His  song 
was  the  distilled  essence  of  a  spirit  jubilant  within. 

"  As  long  as  he  gits  any  sort  o'  stuff  to  peck  at,  and 
ain't  actooally  gobbled  up  and  carried  off  and  made  a 
meal  on,  he  seems  to  think  his  time's  good  'nough.  But 
we  human  critturs  is  more  onreasonable.  Some  on  us  want 
fine  clothes,  and  some  on  us  want  fine  victuals,  and  some 
on  us  want  larnin',  and  most  on  us  want  our  own  way. 
Now,  that  bird  is  satisfied  with  the  Lord's  way.  He 
builds  his  nest  of  what  comes  nighest  to  hand,  and 


306  SHILOH.    ' 

ain't  partic'ler  what  sort  o'  feathers  he  lines  it  with.  He 
don't  growl,  nor  grumble,  nor  fret,  nor  swear,  if  he  has  to 
take  up  with  a  caterpillar  instead  of  a  gi'ound  worm  for 
breakfast, — nary  one  on  'em  sticks  in  his  crop  to  spile  his 
song.  He'd  abeout  as  soon  have  rye  as  wheat  for  dinner  ; 
and  he's  willin'  to  sing  the  same  hymns  his  forefathers  did, 
way  back  to  Noah's  ark,  and  to  larii  'em  to  his  children. 
I  wish  more  of  us  had  his  sense,  or  his  religion,  or  his 
instinct, — if  that's  what  you'd  ruther  call  it.  I  think 
t'would  pass  for  either  on  'em  pooty  well." 

And  Uncle  True  set  up  a  stick  on  end,  and  sent  the 
halves  flying  in  different  directions  with  one  swing  of  his 
axe,  by  way  of  climax  to  his  speech. 

"  Still,"  said  I,  after  a  moment,  "  a  bird's  life  is  not 
quite  like  a  human  life.  The  latter  has  so  many  more  outs 
and  ins,  responsibilities  and  duties,  and  takes  so  many  un- 
expected shapes,  and  has  to  be  looked  at  from  so  many  dif- 
ferent points  of  view." 

"  Um  !  "  said  Uncle  True.  "  You  see  that  little  cloud 
up  yonder.  What  does  it  look  like  to  you,  now  ?  " 

"  A  little  like  a  dipper." 

"  I  was  thinkin'  t'was  suthin'  like  a  shovel.  Wall,  now 
the  wind  has  jammed  in  the  handle,  and  puffed  out  the 
body,  what  is't  like  ?  " 

"  Like  a  shield." 

"  I  was  agoin'  to  say  the  ace  of  spades.  But  it  don't 
matter  what  shape  it  takes,  nor  what  it  looks  like  to  you 
nor  me,  so  long  as  it  keeps — like  its  Lord — about  the 
Father's  business.  Which  I  take  to  be — for  a  cloud — to 
gather  up  all  the  damp  it  finds  floatin'  around  loose,  and  to 
go  where  it's  sent, — never  doubtin'  that  it's  the  Lord  that 
blows  it,  and  not  a  senseless  wind  (for  the  wind's  the  breath 
of  His  mouth  !) ;  and  then,  to  drop  down  wherever  lie  wants 
it  to,  and  refresh  the  earth."  • 

I  went  thoughtfully  into  the  house.  I  suspect  it  was 
greatly  due  to  Uncle  True  that  I  found  Bona  there — in  my 
closet,  "  the  door  being  shut." 


SIIILOH.  307 

Not  that  Mala  was  absent.  The  twain  discoursed  with 
me,  at  some  length  ;  but  I  have  given  so  faithful  a  report 
of  the  circumstances  which  formed  the  text  of  their  dis- 
course, that  its  tenor  is  easily  divined.  And  I  confess  that 
I  am  in  haste  to  have  done  with  the  subject.  Turn  it 
which  way  I  will,  I  find  no  comfort  in  it :  it  leaves  me 
with  a  heavy  weight  of  self-dissatisfaction,  and  (as  a  nat- 
ural consequence)  of  dissatisfaction  with  everybody  else. 


XXIX. 

AN   AFTERNOON   AT   THE    SEWING    SOCIETY. 

HAVE  been  thinking,  Francesca,  how  oddly 
Life  often  leads  us  to  the  very  point  we  meant 
to  shun.     He  who  enters  upon  any  path,  aiming 
at  whatever  goal,  foresees  little  of  the  way  by 
which  it  will  lead  him.     I  did  not  imagine  that 

O 

la  grande  passion  would  get  into,  this  sober 
chronicle ;  to  say  truth,  I  had  a  set  purpose  of 
keeping  it  out.  Yet  there  it  is,  in  spite  of  me. 
And  its  right  to  its  place  is  all  the  more  indefeasible,  doubt- 
less, for  the  reason  that  I  cannot  now  discover  (and  never 
may,  this  side  of  the  veil)  what  is  its  special  business  there. 
In  real  life,  events  do  not  arrange  themselves  with  the  unity, 
the  continuity,  the  steadily  unfolding  plot,  of  the  critic's 
pet  novel.  Half  the  scenes  and  characters  with  which  our 
days  are  filled  might  be  spared,  we  are  wont  to  think,  with- 
out affecting  the  result.  Possibly  they  might,  if  God's 
purpose  in  them  were  the  bringing  about  of  certain  marked 
events,  rather  than  the  training  of  immortal  spirits.  The 
good  or  evil  work  they  do,  in  tempting,  restraining,  devel- 
oping, and  disciplining  us,  is  none  the  less  real  that  it  often 
passes  for  a  void  in  our  experience. " 

And  yet,  it  would  seem  that  we  ought  to  recognize  God's 
hand  even  more  certainly  in  these  scattered,  inconsequential 
events — starting  up  in  our  path  unexpected  and  undesired 
— than  in  those  which  are  the  more  legitimate  offspring  of 


SIIILOII.  309 

our  own  efforts,  and  work  harmoniously  into  our  plans. 
The  eye  of  faith,  methinks,  studying  them  carefully,  would 
catch  a  hint  here,  a  clue  there,  to  show  that  His  pui*pose 
was  shut  within,  if  it  did  not  shine  through,  them ;  and 
would  be  made  plain  to  our  sight,  and  beautiful  and  just  to 
our  comprehension,  in  the  great  Day  of  Revealing. 

To  be  frank,  however,  I  made  my  visit  to  Bryer  Farm 
the  subject  of  no  such  study,  to  no  such  comfortable  end. 
Its  only  present  fruits  were  mortification  and  regret.  And 
on  the  morrow  I  woke  as  from  a  long,  involved,  oppressive 
dream.  The  events  and  personages  that  had  stood  out  in 
such  bold  relief  from  the  surface  of  the  two  preceding  days, 
now  assumed  so  vision-like  a  consistency  as  to  seem  un- 
deserving of  serious  consideration.  Most  gladly  I  turned 
my  back  on  them.  Life  settled  to  its  usual  flow,  and  seemed 
not  more  monotonous  than  was  morally  wholesome. 

IH  the  afternoon  the  Sewing  Society  had  its  weekly  meet- 
ing. To  my  surprise,  I  found  Came  Thome  there.  The 
surprise  was,  by  no  means,  a  pleasurable  one.  It  showed 
that  my  late  adventure  was  not  all  a  dream  ;  and  it  afforded 
fresh  evidence  of  Mrs.  Thome's  determined  and  pertinacious 
character.  She  would  leave  no  channel  untried  by  which 
her  daughter  might  find  a  way  into  my  affections,  or,  at 
least,  into  my  interests.  Yet  Carrie  herself  was  so  plainly 
guiltless  of  any  ulterior  design  that  it  was  impossible  to  be 
unkind  to  her,  even  with  the  vision  of  her  mother  looming 
in  the  background.  She  brightened  up  at  sight  of  me  as  if 
I  had  been  the  sunshine  of  her  existence,  and  immediately 
came  to  put  herself  under  my  orders.  She  seemed  to  have 
come  hither  with  the  single  object  of  keeping  near  me  and 
constituting  herself  my  slave  ;  led  by  that  simple,  enthusi- 
astic admiration,  akin  to  worship,  arid  beautiful  because  so 
disinterested,  which  a  young  girl  often  cherishes  for  a  wo- 
man a  little  older  than  herself. 

In  response  to  her  entreaty  that  she  might  be  made  of 
use,  I  led  her  to  the  work-table.     "  Take  your  choice  of 


310  SHILOH. 

patchwork  and  plain-sewing ;  or,  if  you  have  any  gift  or 
grace  at  fancy-work,  set  yourself  about  some  '  airy  nothing ' 
or  other,  for  Mrs.  Danforth's  fair." 

"  Mrs.  Danforth's  fair !  "  repeated  that  lady,  suddenly 
flashing  all  her  diamonds  before  my  eyes,  "  I  should  just 
like  to  know  when  that  name  was  given,  and  who  stood 
sponsor !  " 

"  Impossible  to  tell.  It  is  like  a  hundred  other  things 
current  in  the  community, — everywhere  received,  and  no- 
where acknowledged.  Easier  to  find  the  source  of  the  Nile 
than  theirs.  Never  mind  ;  the  name  fits,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"  Fits  like  a  duck's  egg  in  a  hen's  nest ! " 

"  The  simile  does  you  credit.  For,  if  the  idea  of  the  fail- 
did  not  actually  originate  with  you,  you  have  so  kindly 
adopted  it,  and  kept  it  warm,  that  I  really  think  no  one  is 
so  fairly  entitled  to  the  honor  of  its  paternity." 

"  All  right !  "  replied  she,  good-humoredly.  "  It  can 
pass  for  '  Mrs.  Danforth's  fair  '  till  it  brings  a  hundred  dol- 
lars, or  two,  into  the  treasury  ;  then,  see  how  quick  it  will 
become  the  '  child  of  the  regiment,' — that  is  to  say,  of  the 
Society ! " 

"  Likely  enough,"  I  rejoined,  laughing.  "  Only,  Mrs. 
Danforth,  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  wear  your  honors 
undivided,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned."  And  I  attempted  to 
move  on. 

"  Not  so  fast !  "  she  exclaimed,  catching  me  by  the  arm. 
"  There  is  a  twang  in  your  voice  that  does  not  escape  my 
observation.     Have  you  anything  against  my  fair  ?  " 
m "  No,  since  it  is  not  mine." 

"  Well,  if  it  were  yours." 

"  The  supposition  is  not  to  be  entertained,  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  urged. 

"  Because  Miss  Essie  is  waiting  for  me  to  help  her  about 
marking  that  quilt." 

She  gave  me  a  look  of  keen  scrutiny.     "  There  is  more 


SHILOH.  311 

than  that  in  the  way  ; — I  see  it  in  your  eye.     Come !  out 
with  it ! " 

I  drew  her  aside.  "  Mrs.  Danforth,  if  you  will  insist 
upon  making  me  say  what  you  will  not  like  to  hear ;  at 
least,  let  me  say  it  where  it  will  not  do  you  a  mischief. 
Since  a  fair  has  been  decided  upon,  by  vote  of  the  Society ; 
I  am  not  disposed,  by  so  much  as  a  word  or  a  look,  to  lay 
a  straw  in  its  way.  I  will  even  do  what  I  can  for  it,  in  the 
way  of  preparation ; — I  hope  never  to  be  classed  among 
those  who  cannot  engage  in  any  work,  or  forward  any  end, 
unless  they  are  allowed  to  do  it  just  in  their  own  way. 
Still,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  it  is  not  a  work  that  com- 
mends itself  very  strongly  to  my  sympathies,  and  not  at  all 
to  my  better  judgment.  Do  not  ask  me,  therefore,  to  take 
any  active  part  in  its  management.  I  cannot  attempt  to 
persuade  people  that  they  are  giving  liberally  to  God  and 
His  Church,  when  they  are  only  spending  money,  more  or 
less  foolishly,  upon  their  own  pleasure.  Neither  can  I 
convince  myself  that  I  am  doing  God  service  by  selling 
'  chances ' — a  softer  name  for  lottery  tickets." 

Mrs.  Danforth  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  The  motive 
makes  the  deed,"  said  she. 

"  Why  not  the  deed  the  motive,  as  well  ?  Easy  to  fit  a 
bad  deed  with  a  good  motive." 

"  Murder,  for  instance  !  "  she  returned,  with  the  air  of 
having  uttered  a  poser. 

"  Certainly.  It  puts  a  good  man  beyond  the  reach  of 
the  sorrows  and  vicissitudes  of  earth." 

"How,  if  it's  a  bad  one?" 

•       "  It  prevents  him  from  adding  to  the  catalogue  of  his 
sins,  and  so  increasing  his  condemnation." 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  What  have  you  to  say  for  rob- 
bery?" ' 

"  The  robbed  has  an  opportunity  to  exercise  the  virtues 
of  patience,  forbearance,  and  self-denial.  The  robber  in- 
tends to  do  good  with  his  money, — to  found  a  hospital  or 
build-*-or  remodel — a  church." 


312  siiiLoii. 

Mrs.  Danforth  raised  her  hands  and  her  eyebrows. 
"  Two  birds  and  one  stone  !  Only  I  am  in  doubt  whether 
I  am  the  stone  or  one  of  the  birds  !  But  what  is  the  use  of 
taking  it  so  seriously  ?  I  do  not  believe  that  ever  a  young 
man  was  made  a  gambler  by  buying  a  chance  in  a  pin- 
cushion. And  people  will  spend  money  foolishly,  anyhow ; 
— they  scour  the  whole  earth  for  an  opportunity  to  do  it ; 
why  not  give  them  one  where  the  money  will  be  converted 
to  some  good  purpose  ?  " 

"  That  is  to  say,  why  should  not  the  Church  make 
money  out  of  the  vices  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  How  you  do  put  things !  If  the  world  won't  give  to 
the  Church  dii'ectly,  it  must  be  made  to  do  it  indirectly, — 
no  thanks  to  it,  of  course  ! — but  the  Church  gets  the  money 
all  the  same,  and  does  good  with  it." 

"  Perhaps  so.  Still,  I  incline  to  the  opinion  that  Christ 
expects  His  people,  by  their  liberality  and  self-denial,  to 
support  His  Church  ;  and  not  the  World,  either  directly  or 
indirectly.  To  be  sure,  they  need  not  decline  the  latter's 
contributions ;  but  neither  must  they  descend  to  worldly 
methods  of  securing  them.  They  should  prefer  to  make  up 
any  deficiency  by  greater  love,  faith,  perseverance,  and 
self-sacrifice,  on  their  own  part." 

"Well,  is  not  that  just  what  we  are  doing?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Danforth,  triumphantly.  "  Some  of  us,  certainly,  are 
working  hard  enough,  and  self-sacrificingly  enough,  to  de- 
serve some  little  credit  for  labors  of  love.  Many  cannot 
give  money,  but  they  gladly  give  work  where  it  brings 
money.  You  would  think  it  a  righteous  act  if  they  put 
their  work  in  a  fancy  store  for  sale,  and  gave  the  pro-* 
ceeds  to  the  Church, — why  not,  then,  in  a  fair  ?  " 

"  Such  arguments  have  convinced  many,  Mrs.  Danforth, 
— and  I  respect  their  conviction, — but  I  do  not  find  them 
quite  satisfactory  to  my  own  mind.  If  fairs  were  conduct- 
ed in  the  sober  manner,  and  on  the  equitable  principles  of  a 
sale, — if  they  were  disconnected  with  every  unlawful  or 


SHILOH.  313 

doubtful  practice,  tending  to  confuse  the  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong  in  those  who  take  part  in  them, — above  all,  if  they 
were  unattended  with  the  putting  forward  of  young  girls, 
as  saleswomen,  in  a  manner  from  which  every  instinct  of 
delicacy  should  revolt ;  and  which,  moreover,  can  scarcely 
fail  to  give  them  a  disrelish  for  quieter,  safer,  more  prayer- 
ful methods  of  work, — my  objections  might  cease.  But,  in 
those  very  things,  I  suspect,  lies  the  secret  of  the  fair's  suc- 
cess, and  of  the  readiness  of  many  to  engage  in  it.  With- 
out them,  it  would  be  but  an  indifferent  mode  of  raising 
money.  But  why  waste  more  words  ?  both  our  minds  are 
made  up.  Besides,  it  would  take  the  whole  afternoon  to 
discuss  the  subject,  in  all  its  bearings.  Had  we  not  better 
leave  it  where  it  is — at  least,  until  you  get  this  present  fair 
off  your  hands  ?  " 

"With  all  my  heart.  Only,  if  those  are  your  senti- 
ments, I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  consideration  in  declin- 
ing to  proclaim  them  on  the  housetops.  A  division  in  the 
camp,  just  now,  would  be  a  disaster,  indeed  !  But  you 
shall  not  always  escape  me  so  easily.  Some  day,  when  dis- 
cussion is  safe,  I  will  corner  you  and  convert  you  to — 
fairs  ! " 

"  If  you  can  !  "  returned  I,  coolly. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Taylor  appeared. 
Having  made  the  tour  of  the  room,  and  said  a  pleasant 
word  to  each  of  the  workers,  he  came  to  my  corner.  "  I 
congratulate  you,  Miss  Frost,  upon  an  enlarged  prospect  of 
usefulness." 
•  I  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"At  last,  I  have  succeeded  in  scraping  together  a  Sun- 
day School  class  for  you." 

"  Indeed  !  I  was  not  aware  that  you  had  any  such  task 
in  hand.  I  suppose  you  must  be  thanked." 

"  As  you  please.     Perhaps  you  think  it  should  have 
been  done  sooner.     But  the  old  teachers  had  the  first  claim, 
I  thought.     The  old  teachers  and  the  old  scholars  naturally 
14 


tJ14  SIIILOH. 

went  together.  And  new  scholars  are  not  always  to  be 
had  for  the  asking,  I  find.  However,  by  the  opportune 
arrival  of  two,  and  by  a  judicious  weeding  of  the  old,  I 
have  been  able  to  collect  a  class  of  five  for  you  to  begin 
with,  next  Sunday." 

"  Is  there  no  one  else  who  wrould  like  it  ?  " 

He  looked  surprised  and  disappointed.  "  Am  I  to  un- 
derstand that  you  would  not  like  it  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that.  Only,  I  should  like  permis- 
sion to  do  better — if  I'can.  I  have  a  theory  that  the  best 
class  for  a  teacher  who  really  means  work,  and  loves  it,  is 
the  one  that  she  gathers  for  herself,  from  the  wayside,  by  her 
own  personal  magnetism  of  smile,  voice,  touch.  No  other 
will  interest  her  so  deeply,  task  her  resources  so  thoroughly, 
or  reward  her  labors  so  abundantly.  For  'some  time,  I  have 
had  it  in  my  mind  to  gather  such  a  class  from  the  waste 
places  of  Shiloh.  I  take  shame  to  myself  that  I  have  not 
set  about  it  sooner.  But  I  will  commence  at  once,  if  you 
will  give  me  permission." 

"  Not  only  that,  but  my  heartiest  thanks,"  said  Mr. 
Taylor,  shaking  my  hand  warmly.  "I  wish  there  were 
more  of  your  mind.  Half  my  burden  would  roll  off  my 
back.  But  have  you  had  any  experience  of  this  sort  of 
work?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  little.  I  once  taught  in  a  Sunday  School  in 
one  of  the  worst  districts  of  New  York.  Every  new  teacher 
was  sent  into  the  streets,  literally  to  pick-  up  his  or  her 
class  out  of  the  gutter.  Some  of  the  matei'ial  thus  brought 
in  was  as  rough  and  gnarled  and  heterogeneous  as  could  be 
•imagined ;  and  it  was  occasionally  necessary  to  call  in  the 
police  to  keep  chaos  from  coming  again." 

"  I  wonder,"  observed  Aunt  Vin,  without  the  smallest 
intention  of  satirizing  the  civil  force,  "that  some  of  the 
'  light-fingered  sentry'  didn't  pick  your  pockets." 

"They  did.  But  new  and  suspicious  comers  were 
searched  at  the  door,  before  their  exit,  if  anything  was 


SHILOH.  315 

missing.  And  a  few  Sundays  generally  smoothed  down 
the  roughest  of  them,  in  a  manner  to  seem  little  short  of 
miraculous.  It  gave  one  new  confidence  both  in  God  and 
human  nature." 

"  But,  Miss  Frost,  isn't  it  rather  like  taking  the  clergy- 
man's own  work  right  out  of  his  hands,  to  go  round  hunt- 
ing up  children  for  the  Sunday  School,  in  a  regular  parish  ?  " 

"  I  claim  the  right  to  answer  that  question,"  said  Mr. 
Taylor,  quickly.  "  No,  Mrs.  Seber,  most  emphatically,  no ! 
A  clergyman  would  need  a  hundred  hands,  and  as  many 
heads,  to  do  all  of  such  work  that  cries  out  to  be  done. 
Moreover,  a  layman  or  a  laywoman  can  often  do  it  better 
than  he.  These  wild  children  are  apt  to  be  afraid  of  him ; 
they  scatter  at  his  approach  like  so  many  blackbirds.  But 
let  some  pleasant-faced,  soft-voiced  lady  stop  and  speak  to 
them  in  the  street,  tell  them  a  story,  and  promise  them  a 
picture-book,  a  cake,  a  penny,  whatever  tempts  them  most 
(I  hold  that  nearly  any  bribe  is  lawful,  at  the  outset), 
if  they  will  come  to  her  class  next  Sunday, — and  ten  to 
one  she  gets  them.  Their  way  is  thus  made  clear  to 
them.  No  strange  teacher  to  be  encountered, — they  have 
felt  the  touch  of  the  hand  that  is  to  lead  them  and  feed 
them,  and  are  sure  that  they  like  it.  Of  course  they 
"will  not  all  follow  any  one  man  or  woman;  one  will  be 
taken  by  one  face,  another  by  another, — this  will  yield 
to  one  inducement,  that  to  a  different  one, — but  I  believe 
that  all  might  be  brought  in,  if  there  were  only  scouts 
enough  out  after  them.  The  child's  heart  being  won,  the 
parents  are,  of  coui'se,  visited  and  asked  to  consent ;  some- 
thing about  their  circumstances  and  way  '-of  thinking  is 
learned  and  reported  to  the  clergyman;  and  his  way  is 
made  straight  for  him  to  visit  them  and  do  them  good. 
As  straight,  that  is,  as  any  way  can  be,  in  these  crooked 
paths  of  earth.  If  laymen  only  felt  their  duty  in  this 
matter ! " 

"But  everybody  hasn't  the  time  for  such  business," 


316  SHILOH. 

objected  Mrs.  Burcham.  "  Now,  I  like  a  class  in  the  Sun- 
day School, — I  have  always  had  one, — but,  good  land !  I 
shouldn't  have,  if  I  had  to  go  round  and  hunt  it  up  in  that 
way ! " 

"  For  such  teachers,"  said  I,  "  there  are  the  ready-made 
classes.  That  reminds  me,  Mr.  Taylor,  that  you  have  one, 
awaiting  a  teacher.  Let  me  recommend — Miss  Thorne." 

Carrie  blushed,  and  at  first,  declined.  But  she  finally 
accepted.  And  I  fell  straightway  into  a  brown  study  of 
the  ramifications  and  results  of  influence.  Extricating  my- 
self, with  an  effort,  I  went  in  search  of  Mrs.  Danforth,  and 
drew  her  aside.  "  I  believe  your  children  are  not  in  the 
Sunday  School.  May  I  have  them  as  the  nucleus  of  a 
class  ? " 

She  held  up  her  hands  in  amazement.  "  Well !  that  is 
what  I  should  call by  its  right  name,  if  I  were  not  pre- 
vented by  a  due  regard  for  decorum  !  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Did  I  not  hear  you  say,  awhile  ago,  that  you  were  going 
out  into  the  highways  and  byways,  to1  rake  in  the  offscour- 
ings of  the  earth  ? — and  you  begin  with  me  ?  Compliment- 
ary, to  say  the  least  of  it ! " 

"Mrs.  Danforth,  you  quite  mistake  the  matter.  In  this 
favored  corner  of  the  earth  there  are  no  'offscourings.' 
Shiloh  recognizes  only  different  degrees  of  prosperity, — 
some  of  them  tolerably  low  down  in  the  scale  !  He  Avho  is 
lowest,  balances  matters  by  increased  independence  and 
sensitiveness.  If  it  were  whispered  about  that  Miss  Frost 
designed  to  make  up  a  class  from  the  children  of  'poor 
'folks,'  not  a  child  would  be  permitted  to  enter  it.  None 
of  us  are  poor'folks,  please  to  understand,  except  when  we 
are  asked  to  give  something  to  support  the  Church, — and 
then,  most  of  us  are !  But  we  are  not  to  be  confounded 
with  paupers  !  Self-respect  is  the  last  thing  that  dies  in  a 
genuine  Yankee.  But,  you  see,  if  Mrs.  Danforth's  Effie  and 
Gordon  are  in  my  class,  not  a  word  can  be  said.  Let  me 
have  them,  just  for  a  little  while,  please  !  I  will  take  good 


SHILOH.  317 

care  that  they  receive  no  harm;  and  their  presence  and 
influence  will  do  much  to  insure  the  success 'of  my  experi- 
ment. Pray  consent !  "  . 

Mrs.  Danforth  is  the  incarnation  of  good-nature.  Des- 
pite her  ingrained  pride,  and  her  occasional  hauteur^  no 
woman  of  my  acquaintance  finds  it  so  hard  to  say  "  no  "  to 
a  direct  appeal  for  help.  She  looked  half-amazed,  half- 
pi*ovoked,  but  amusement  prevailed  at  last.  Bursting  into 
a  loud  laugh,  she  said,  with  a  most  expressive  outward 
gesture  of  her  jewelled  hands, — 

"  Take  them !  take  all !  But  don't  send  them  home  to 
me  with  vermin  outside  their  heads,  nor  Yankee  phrases 
inside  them, — or  the  compact  does  not  hold  good  a  moment 
longer.  But  what  would  Mark  Danforth  say  if  he  knew  I 
had  let  his  children  go  into  a  Ragged  Class  !  Shouldn't  I 
get '  Hail  Columbia,'  and  every  other  tune  that  would  send! 
a  body  quickly  to  the  right-about-face !  " 


XXX. 

GATHERING   IK. 

}EXT    morning,  I  began  the   real  work   of 
gathering  in.     The  first  step  was  easy-:   it 
took  me   to   a    house   where   I  had  twice 
watched,  and  where  Death  had  prepared  the 
way  for  me.     The  sad-faced  widow  promised 
me  her  little  Jamie  without  a  dissenting  word. 
Only,  she  feared  that  his  wardrobe  was  not  all 
that  could  be  desired.     A  suggestion  that  its 
deficiencies  might  be  supplied  did  not  brighten  her  face. 

I  stopped  next  before  a  rough,  weather-browned  house, 
in  the  midst  of  a  potato  field ;  above  Avhose  low  roof  a 
huge  stone  chimney  rose  like  a  Avatch-toAver.  Here,  I  had 
often  noticed,  in  passing,  two-  or  three  neglected  looking 
children  playing  around  the  bar-place  which  served  in  lieu 
of  gate.  The  premises  seemed  to  be.  deserted,  now ;  never- 
theless, I  knocked  at  the  door,  and,  getting  no  answei*, 
lifted  the  latch.  It  admitted  me  into  a  small,  dingy 
kitchen.  A  sturdy  boy  sat  on  the  hearth,  amusing  himself 
by  sifting  ashes  through  his  fingers  into  his  "hat ;  near  the 
window  was  a  cradle  with  a  sleeping  babe  in  it ;  and  by 
its  side  sat  a  pale,  quiet,  little  girl,  rocking  it  with  a  pa- 
tient foot  and  face,  as  if  she  had  come  unusually  early  to  a 
comprehension  of  what  was  to  be  her  chief  business  in  life. 
Both  stared  at  me. 

"  Where  is  your  mother  ?  "  I  asked. 


SHILOH.  319 

"  She's  gone  a-washin',"  said  the  girl. 
4  "  And  left  you  to  take  care  of  baby  and  brother  ?  " 

The  small  hero  in  the  ashes  resented  the  implication. 
"  She  takes  care  o'  baby,  but  she  don't  tetch  me,  I 
can  tell  ye !  I  takes  care  o'  myself," — with  immense 
dignity. 

"  And  he  loill  get  inter  the  ashes,"  added  the  small 
woman.  "  Though  mother  said  he  mustn't,  and  she'll  give 
it  to  him, when  she  gets  home."  The  prediction  being  ut- 
tered, not  with  a  righteous  exultation  over  merited  punish- 
ment, but  in  the  sad  tone  of  a  prophet  heart-heavy  with 
his  own  foresight. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  Cinderella?"  I  in- 
quired. 

Libby  shook  her  head  ;  Bob  vouchsafed  no  answer. 

"  If  you  will  come  here,"  said  I,  addressing  the  latter, 
"  I  will  tell  it  to  you." 

He  looked  tempted,  but  doubtful.  He  was  balancing 
the  attractions  of  stories  and  mischief.  I  settled  the  mat- 
ter by  lifting  him  quietly  by  the  collar,  giving  him  a  little 
shake,  to  clear  him  of  the  ashes,  and  setting  him  down  on 
the  other  side  of  me,  remote  from  the  hearth.  He  put  his 
finger  into  his  mouth,  and  looked  at  me,  speculatively. 
He  was  uncertain  whether  to  take  offence  or  not.  With- 
out giving  him  time  to  decide,  I  commenced  the  story  of 
Cinderella — with  variations.  The  heroine's  worst  trial  was 
a  boy-brother,  ingenious  in  methods  of  torment,  and  with 
a  perverse  inclination  for  ashes.  The  fairy  godmother  gave 
him  wonderful  gifts  ;  but,  precisely  at  the  wrong  moment 
they  turned  to  ashes  in  his  hands,  or  his  mouth.  The  de- 
tails were  harroAving,  and  the  finale  was  made  to  suit  this 
new  version.  When  I  finished,  the  eyes  of  my  audience 
were  like  saucers. 

Then,  without  more  pause  than  was  necessary  to  discon- 
nect the  two,  I  told  the  story  of  Samuel.  It  was  not  re- 
ceived with  the  breathless,  wide-eyed  interest  awakened  by 


320  si-iiLoii. 

the  other ;  but,  having  won  the  ear  of  my  audience  with 
that,  it  listened  quietly  and  soberly  to  this. 

"  Tell  me  another,"  commanded  my  male  auditor,  when 
I  stopped. 

"  Not  this  morning.  But  if  you  will  come  to  me,  in 
the  church,  next  Sunday  noon — you  and  Libby — I  will  tell 
you  another,  with  pleasure." 

His  face  fell. 

"  And  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  would  be  about  the 
tigers  and  crocodiles  in  Africa, — that  eat  up  women  and 
children,"  I  went  on. 

He  looked  eager.     "  Shan't  I  have  ter  larn  lessons  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  choose." 

"  Then  I'll  come,"  pronounced  he,  decidedly. 

"  I'm  afraid  mother  won't  let  us  come,"  said  the  little 
woman,  sorrowfully. 

Not  to  burden  my  narrative  with  too  many  details,  I 
left  a  note  for  the  mother,  begging  her  to  let  the  children 
come  to  me ;  and  departed,  in  the  firm  conviction  that  the 
young  rascal  who  stood  kicking  his  heels  together  on  the 
doorstep  would  give  her  no  peace  until  he  had  worried  a 
consent  out  of  her.  Which  proved  to  be  well-founded. 

My  next  visit  was  to  a  red-haired  vii'ago,  who  had  just 
set  her  foot  into  the  middle  of  a  pie  sent  her  by  a  kind 
neighbor,  as  the  readiest  way  of  resenting  the  implica- 
tion that  she  needed  charity ;  while  the  bearer  stood  by, 
crimson  with  mortification  and  discomfiture.  She  lost  no 
time  in  giving  me  to  understand  that  "  stuck-up  city  folks," 
meddling  with  what  was  "  none  o'  their  business,"  need  not 
look  for  much  better  treatment  at  her  hands.  Neverthe- 
less, by  dint  of  a  few  good-humored,  but  sharp  retorts, — 
which  seemed  greatly  to  her  taste, — I  got  her  first  to  listen 
to  me,  then  to  ask  a  question  or  two,  and  finally,  to  say, 
grumpily ; — 

"  If  Mr.  Taylor  wants  my  younguns  in  his  Sunday 
School,  he'd  better  come  arter  'em." 


SHILOH.  321 

"  I  think  he  has  called,"  replied  I.  "  He  did  not  find 
you  at  home." 

"  'Twouldn't  hurt  him  to  come  again,  would  it  ?  " 

"  Doubtless  he  will  come  again,  in  due  time.  You 
must  recollect  that  he  has  been  in  Shiloh  only  a  few 
weeks." 

"  Who's  agoin'  ter  be  in  yer  class  ?  " 

"  I  have  but  three  promised  positively — Jimmy  Lang  " 
(her  lip  curled),  "  and  Mrs.  Danforth's  two  children." 

"  Mis'  Danforth  !  that's  the  city  woman  down  on  Hope 
Plain  ;  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  The  same." 

"  Did  ye  ask  her  if  she  was  willin'  ter  hev'  her  young- 
uns  go  with  mine  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ask  you  if  you  were  willing  that  yours  should 
go  with  hers  ?  " 

"  Um ! — Be  they  all  go'n'  ter  set  in  the  same  seat  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  the  seat  will  hold  them." 

"  What's  yer  idee  in  gittin'  up  sech  a  class  ?  " 

"  To  keep  myself  out  of  mischief  on  Sundays." 

Her  stern  features  relaxed  into  a  smile.  "  I  guess  ye'll 
make  it  out,  if  they're  all-  like  my  Jim  an'  Bess.  Ye'll 
hev'  yer  hands  full,  with  them  two  younguns,  an'  no  mis- 
take ;  they're  as  full  of  the  Old  Nick  as  an  egg  is  of  meat. 
If  ye  think  ye  kin  git  any  on't  out  on  'em,  ye  kin  hev'  'em, 
an'  welcome." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  will  try.  Please  give  me  their  names 
in  full."  And  I  wrote  them  down  with  great  satisfac- 
tion. 

Shiftlessness  reigned  absolute  in  the  dwelling .  which  I 
visited  next.  It  creaked  in  the  crippled  gate  (swinging 
painfully  on  one  hinge),  it  looked  out  of  the  patched,  dingy 
windows,  it  greeted  me  in  the*  pots  and  pails  round  the 
doorstep,  it  had  made  the  kitchen  its  headquarters,  and  it 
smiled  me  a  good-natured  welcome  from  the  mistress'  face. 

She  was  a  woman  athirst  for  knowledge.  Before  I  had 
14* 


322  SHILOH. 

fully  explained  the  object  of  my  visit,  she  interrupted  me 
with, — 

"  Ye're  from  York,  ain't  ye  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"Bornthar?" 

"  No,  not  in  the  city." 

"  Lived  thai-  long  ?  " 

"  Four  or  five  years." 

"  Didn't  ye  like  the  place  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  dislike  it." 

"  What'd  ye  leave  for,  then  ?  " 

"  On  account'  of  my  health." 

"  What  ails  ye  ?  " 

And  so  on,  for  full  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  yet  in  a 
manner  quite  free  from  any  taint  of  impertinence.  By  the 
end  of  which  time,  I  had  given  her  all  pressingly  needful 
information  relative  to  my  origin,  education,  friends,  age, 
means  of  support,  the  cost  of  my  garments,  and  a  hundred 
appendant  matters  of  interest.  In  requital,  she  graciously 
allowed  me  to  write  down  as  my  scholar  a  certain  white- 
haired,  pug-nosed  girl, — Mehitabel  Baker  by  name  ;  and, 
to  all  appearance,  a  second  edition  of  the  mother. 

But  all  this  was  scarcely  more  than  preliminary  skir- 
mishing. The  true  tug  of  war  was  to  come,  I  imagined,  at 
Mr.  Warren's.  I  wanted  to  capture  Jack  for  my  class,  and 
I  had  reason  to  know  that  he  was  made  of  material  as  slip- 
pery as  his  father's  was  unmalleable.  To  win  the  adhesion 
of  the  one  and  the  consent  of  the  other,  would  be  no  easy 
task.  At  sight  of  the  little  brown  house,  I  gathered  to- 
gether my  forces,  and  reviewed  my  weapons,  as  ior  a  bat- 
tle. Nor  did  I  forget  to  invoke  higher  aid.  God  has  put 
into  the  hands  of  His  children  two  powerful  agencies,  labor 
and  prayer.  The  first  we  use  moderately,  the  other  we  are 
prone  to  neglect.  Yet  it  is,  I  believe,  the  mightier  of  the 
twain.  Used  in  conjunction  with  the  other — not  flown  to 
as  a  last  and  only  resource,  when  that  has  failed — it  would 


SHILOH  323 

be  powerful,  I  think,  for  all  things.  The  two  were  meant 
to  go  together,  as  the  helve  with  the  hatchet.  Divorcing 
them,  no  one  has  a  right  to  complain  that  either  is  ineffi- 
cient. 

During  all  these  weeks,  I  have  not  lost  sight  of  the 
"Warrens,  though  my  intercourse  with  them  has  been 
limited  to  a  few  moments'  chat  at  the  door,  or  the  gate,  in 
passing  ;  and  there  has  been  no  occasion  for  bringing  them 
into  these  chronicles.  After  Maggie's  death,  the  small 
cares  and  petty  business  of  life  flowed  in  and  tilled  up  the 
vacant  place,  to  outward  appearance.  A  deeper  shade  of 
gravity  on  the  mother's  face  ;  a  look  of  fixed  abstraction, 
easily  kindled  into  irritation,  upon  the  father's ; — these  were 
the  only  ripples  on  the  surface  of  Life's  sea,  to  show  where 
a  soul  had  gone  down.  Neither  of  them  inclined  to  talk  of 
her  much ;  the  one  had  been  so  long  unused  to  sympathy 
as  to  have  lost  the  impxilse  to  seek  it,  the  other  shrank  from 
it  as  fi-om  friction  on  a  sore.  Yet  the  voices  of  both  soft- 
ened to  me,  I  fancied,  as  to  none  other  ;  and  it  needed  no 
words  to  show  that  they  never  saw  me  without  a  memory 
of  their  dead  daughter  in  my  arms. 

I  found  Mr.  Warren,  as  was  his  most  frequent  wont, 
smoking  a  clay  pipe  at  the  one  point  of  ingress  to  the 
house, — namely,  the  kitchen  door.  He  moved  aside  for  me 
to  enter,  but  remarked,  as  he  did  so,  that  there  was  "  no 
one  within.  Mrs.  Warren  was  washing,  out  under  the 
woodshed.  Could  he  do  anything  for  me  ?  " 

"  Truly  you  can,"  said  I,  seating  myself  on  the  door- 
step. "  I  came  expressly  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 

"  Am  I  to  grant  it  '  unsought,  unseen,'  as  the  children 
say  ?  "  asked  he,  good  humoredly. 

"  I— I— well,  yes." 

He  gave  me  a  keen  look,  "  That  moment  of  hesitation 
was  fatal  to  you,n  said  he.  "  To  a  frank,  spontaneous  '  yes,' 
I  would  have  given  a  blind  consent,  but  not  to  cool  calcu- 
lation. Since  you  take  time  to  consider,  so  must  L" 


324:  SHILOH. 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  said  I,  trying  not  to  show  my 
disconcertion.  "  I  only  came  to  beg  Jack  of  you  for  my 
Sunday  School  class.  I  am  naturally  desirous  that  it  should 
reach  a  respectable  number, — the  more,  that  I  have  under- 
taken to  gather  it  on  my  own  responsibility,  unprompted 
and  unhelped." 

"You  choose  your  phrases  well,"  returned  he,  with  a 
cynical  smile.  "  To  an  old  sinner  like  me,  the  vice  of  am- 
bition, and  the  sturdy,  everyday  virtue  of  independence, 
are  better  motives  to  allege  than  a  simple  wish  to  do  good." 

I  was  provoked  into  a  satisfactory  directness.  "  What 
need  to  bring  my  motives  into  the  matter, — unless  they 
were  inimical  to  you  or  Jack,  which  you  well  know  they 
are  not?  The  question  simply  is,  whether — as  a  personal 
favor,  or  out  of  regard  for  nu>,  or  from  indifference,  or  for 
any  other  reason,  good  or  bad,  secret  or  acknowledged — 
you  will  let  me  have  Jack  ?  " 

"  Miss  Frost,  woujd  you  not  object  to  send  your  son  to 
be  'taught  what  you  did  not  believe  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  I  had  something  better  to  teach  him  that 
I  did  believe." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  assume  that  I  have  not  ?  " 

"  What  have  you  taught  him,  Mr.  Warren  ?  " 

He  made  a  kind  of  grimace.  "  Little  enough,  to  be  sure. 
But  he  is  too  young  yet  to  know  about  these  matters.  He 
cannot  understand  either  the  dogmas  of  religion  tor  the 
systems  of  philosophy." 

"  Of  philosophy,  I  grant  you.  He  may  be  a  good  deal 
older  without  being  much  more  apt !  But  of  religion,  yes. 
Those  ideas  of  a  God,  a  Hereafter,  Human  Responsibility, 
Reward  and  Punishment,  an  Atonement,  etc.,  whereat 
gray-headed  sages  and  philosophers  so  stick  and  bungle, 
are  always  comprehensible  enough  to  a  child.  I  never 
knew  the  dullest  to  profess  any  difficulty  in  understanding, 
nor  hesitancy  in  receiving,  them.  Indeed,  most  children 
catch  at  them  readily,  if  there  is  opportunity, — even  when 


siiiLon.  325 

there  is  no  direct  effort  to  inculcate  them.  If  jou  are  wil- 
ling to  make  the  experiment,  we  will  find  out,  on  the 
spot,  whether  Jack  has  them;  or  whether,  having  them 
not,  he  makes  any  difficulty  of  understanding  and  accept- 
ing them." 

Mr.  "Warren  puffed  away  in  silence  for  some  moments, 
then  he  uplifted  a  stern  call  of  "  Jack !  "  It  found  that  re- 
markable urchin  in  some  remote  corner  of  the  premises, 
and  brought  him  hither,  at  breathless  speed,  with  mixed 
feelings  of  awe  and  curiosity.  There  was  a  tone  in  his 
father's  voice,  to  which  he  was  unaccustomed;  and  he 
doubted  whether  it  boded  him  good  or  evil. 

Not  to  linger  on  this  part  of  my  story,  a  few  questions 
served  to  show  that  Jack,  being  gifted  with  somewhat  un- 
usual powers  of  memory  and  observation,  had  a  tolerably 
correct  notion  of  the  Christian  scheme,  derived  from  vari- 
ous chance  sources  of  information.  He  knew  who  made 
him  and  all  things, — believed  that  God  saw  him  at  all 
times,  and  was  especially  conscious  of  His  clear-seeing  eye 
upon  him  when  he  had  been  doing  wrong,  and  afraid  of 
His  wrath, — his  idea  of  the  Heavenly  Father  being  plainly, 
somewhat  colored  by  his  experience  of  an  earthly  one. 
Also,  knew  the  main  incidents  of  the  life  of  Christ  and  the 
object  of  it, — had  read  about  Him  in  the  Testament  at 
school.  On  being  asked  if  he  believed  the  Testament, 
averred  that  he  did ;  though  a  similar  inquiry  with  refer- 
ence to  Mother  Goose  and  other  stories,  elicited  only  a  dis- 
dainful curl  of  the  lip.  Furthermore,  under  considerable 
pressure,  acknowledged  that  he  expected  to  go  to  hell,  if 
he  died  just  as  he  was, — knew  he  was  a  bad  boy,  but 
couldn't  seem  to  get  to  be  any  better,  though  he  sometimes 
tried.  And  having  thus  made  his  Confession  of  Faith, 
Jack  was  dismissed  to  his  work,  or  play,  or  mischief,  to 
wonder  within  himself,  doubtless,  what  it  all  meant. 

Mr.  Warren  smoked  on  silently,  seeming  to  be  the  prey 
of  bitter  and  corroding  thought.  After  a  little,  as  he  said 


326  SHILOII. 

nothing,  I  remarked,  drily,  that  it  appeared  I  had  not  much 
to  teach  Jack,  in  the  way  of  Christian  doctrine.  The  most 
I  could  do  was  to  show  him  how  to- apply  his  knowledge  to 
his  own  heart  and  life,  by  faith,  so  that  lie  might  continue 
his  struggle  to  be  a  better  boy  more  successfully.  And  I 
inquired,  furthermore,  with  somewhat  sarcastic  emphasis, 
if  he  (Mr.  Warren)  had  any  new  truths  to  impart  to  him, 
likely  to  afford  him  more  efficient  assistance  in  the  good 
work,  than  those  old  ones,  which  had  so  imperceptibly 
made  their  way  into  his  understanding  ? 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Mr.  Warren,  impatiently.  "  Take  him, 
in  Heaven's  name,  and  do  what  you  like  with  him !  Since 
he  cannot  come  to  the  study  of  these  subjects  with  an  un- 
prejudiced mind,  as  I  had  hoped, — why,  let  him  leai'n  what 
he  can  of  one  side  before  he  takes  up  the  other.  It  will 
not  make  much  difference  in  the  long  run.  I  read  the 
Testament,  too,  when  I  was  a  boy — but  it  did  not  pre- 
vent me  from  turning  out  what  you,  I  suppose,  would  call 
an  infidel." 

"  Or  an  unbeliever,"  said  I,  composedly.  "  What  rea- 
son have  I  to  call  you  anything  else  ?  In  all  our  acquaint- 
ance, you  have  never  shown  me  anything  but  unbelief. 
Of  your  creed,  if  you  have  one,  I  know  nothing." 

He  reflected  a  moment,  then  he  burst  out  with,  "  I  do 
not  believe  in  the  inspiration  of  the  Bible." 

I  could  not  repress  a  smile.  "  There  it  is  ! "  said  I, 
"  you  see  you  know  not  how  to  say  anything  but  '  I  do  not 
believe.'  Now,  creed  comes  from  credo,  I  believe.  The 
Mohammedan  has  one,  so  have  the  Chinese  and  the  Afri- 
can. It  is  only  philosophers  and  sceptics,  lost  and  bewil- 
dered amid  the  mazes  of  their  own  imaginations,  or  dwarfed 
to  the  stature  of  their  own  dust-clogged  reason,  that  have 
to  content  themselves  with  negations." 

He  looked  a  little  piqued.  "  Wait  a  moment ;  I  have, 
at  least,  one  article  of  belief,  if  that  constitutes  a  creed. 
I  believe  in  a  God — or  a  Somebody,  or  Something,  which 


SHILOH.  327 

may  as  well  be  called  by  that  name  as-  any — who  made  the 
universe,  and  governs  it." 

"  Dp  you  also  tremble  ?  "  asked  I,  audaciously.  Not 
in  truth,  that  I  risked  anything.  I  knew  well  that,  the 
sharper  the  repartee  in  which  I  indulged  with  Mr.  "Warren, 
the  better  he  liked  it. 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  he,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  And, 
therefore,  it  is  fair  to  conclude  that  I  am  not — what  you  so 
politely  insinuate." 

"  I  gladly  accept  the  conclusion.  As  for  your  creed,  it 
is  good,  so  far  as  it  goes.  Which  is  about  as  far,  I  take  it,  as 
the  most  uncultivated  savage  would  go,  before  he  tried  to 
embody  this  Deity  in,  or  to  represent  Him  by,  an  image  of 
wood  or  stone,  the  work  of  his  own — or  some  other — hands. 
Go  on  ;  let  me  see  how  you  do  that.  Do  you  accept  the 
pantheism  of  Spinoza,  or  the  materialism  of  Hume  ?  " 

"  Which  would  you  recommend  ?  "  asked  he,  coolly,  be- 
tween two  puffs  of  his  pipe. 

"  Hume,  by  all  means."  I  replied,  rising.  "  For  it  is 
most  fit  that  a  man  who  begins  by  getting  rid  of  the  Gos- 
pel, a  Saviour,  and  all  that  the  renewed  heart  holds  most 
dear,  should  end  by  getting  rid  of  himself — and  everybody 
else — as  does  that  most  subtle  and  abstruse  philosopher ! 
For,  having  proved — to  his  own  satisfaction  ! — that  he  has 
no  identity  apart  from  the  perceptions  conveyed  to  him,  he 
goes  on  to  say  that  if  any  one  has  a  different  notion  of  him- 
self, he  cannot  longer  argue  with  him  !  See  to  what  absurd- 
ities men  are  reduced,  who  reject  the  revelation  of  God, 
and  the  guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit !  " 

And  I  turned  to  go. 

"  Sit  a  moment  longer,"  urged  Mr.  Warren,  "  I  want  to 
ask  you  a  question,  or  two." 

"  To  what  purpose  ?  "  said  I,  still  standing.  "  It  will  be 
the  old  story — endless  discussion  and  no  result.  Besides, 
I  do  not  care  to  treat  serious  matters  any  longer  in  this 
light  way." 


328  SIIILOH. 

"  I  won't  discuss,"  returned  he,  "  I  will  only  question- 
And  you  may  be  as  serious  as  you  like." 

I  sat  down  reluctantly. 

"  Seriously,  now — and  honestly — Miss  Frost,  do  you 
believe  the  Bible,  every  word  of  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

MR.  W.  And  yet,  you  are,  I  take  it,  a  pretty  well  edu- 
cated woman ;  as  much  so  as  if  you  had  been  through 
college  ? 

I.  I  cannot  say  as  to  that, — I  only  know  that,  in  most 
respects,  my  father  gave  me  the  same  education  that  he 
would  have  given  a  son. 

ME.  "VV.  And  you  have  traveled  in  Europe  ? 

I.  Yes, — and  elsewhere.  But  to  what  end  this  cate- 
chism ? 

ME.  W.  I  am  coming  to  it.  I  can  understand  how  these 
ignoramuses  around  us  can  believe  in  the  Bible's  absurdities 
and  impossibilities ;  but  it  passes  my  comprehension  how  a 
thoroughly  trained  and  informed  mind  can  do  it. 

I.  Lord  Bacon  was  a  profounder  thinker  than  Voltaire. 
And  Bishop  Butler  was  a  more  learned  man  than  Tom 
Paine. 

ME.  W.  Have  you  read  the  "  Age  of  Reason  "  ? 

I.  Yes, — my  father  would  have  me  read  it,  under  his 
supervision. 

ME.  W.  And  what  do  you  think  of  it  ? 

I.  I  think  it  as  shallow  a  work  as  was  ever  palmed  off 
oh  a  credulous  public  for  a  product  of  profound  thought. 

ME.  W.  (raising  his  eyebrows).  A  sweeping  assertion. 

I.  Not  at  all.  The  book  is  nowhere  profound.  You 
can  read  it  all  through,  from  title-page  to  finis,  at  one  sit- 
ting, and  not  once  need  to  pause  and  reflect ;  nor  have  a 
worse  headache  at  the  end  than  a  shilling  novel  would 
give  you. 

ME.  W.  So  you  classify  books,  as  some  do  wines,  by  the 
amount  of  headache  in  them  ! 


SHILOH,  329 

I.  No,  not  quite.  But  I  think  it  might  not  be  amiss  to 
rate  them  according  to  the  amount  of  heartache  they  cure. 
I  doubt  if  the  "  Age  of  Reason  "  ever  cured  any !  Whereas, 
the  Bible  has  cured  more  heartache,  and  cured  it  more 
thoroughly,  than  any  other  book  known.  Notwithstanding 
its  difficulties  and  obscurities — what  you  are  pleased  to  call 
its  absurdities  and  impossibilities, — the  fact  remains  that, 
for  hundreds  of  years,  every  kind  of  human,  misery  has 
gone  to  it,  as  to  a  well  of  consolation,  and  found  what  it 
sought.  Is  there  nothing  in  this  fact,  oh,  contemptuous 
scoffer  at  its  claim  to  Divine  inspiration  !  to  make  you 
pause  and  reconsider  your  dictum  ?  There  are  older  books 
than  the  gospels, — why  have  they  not  equal  power  ?  There 
are  works  of  stronger  fascination  as  mere  specimens  of  hu- 
man genius, — why  have  they  not  the  same  effect  ? 

Mn.  W.  (thoughtfully).  Probably,  because  none  of  them 
profess  to  answer  so  categorically  those  three  great  ques- 
tions that  continually  haunt  and  perplex  the  human  mind, 
"  Whence  came  we  ?  Why  are  we  here  ?  "  and  "  Whither 
do  we  go  ?  "  Most  people  prefer  to  take  up  with  any  ap- 
parently authoritative  answer  than  to  have  none  at  all. 

I.  Unwittingly,  you  have  said  more  for  the  Bible  than 
you  can  say  against  it !  To  admit  that  it  is,  after  all,  the 
one  answer  to  those  questions  which  best  satisfies  the  uni- 
versal mind, — the  loftiest  and  the  lowest  alike, — though 
human  wit  and  wisdom  and  genius  have  exhausted  them- 
selves in  vainly  trying  to  find  out  a  better, — is  tantamount 
to  admitting  that  it  is  inspired.  If  of  human  origin,  why 
does  no  other  work  displace  it  ?  Other  books  die,  and  are 
forgotten.  Early  scepticism  is  well-nigh  lost — Celsus  and 
Julian  are  best  known  by  the  refutations  of  Origen  and 
Cyril.  Early  moralists  are  shelved — in  learned  libraries. 
Early  historians  are  superseded  by  works  embodying  their 
substance.  But  the  Bible  remains  intact.  Though  a  moun- 
tainous mass  of  commentary,  criticism,  and  discussion,  has 
been  written  upon  and  against  it,  nothing  has  ever  sup- 


330  8HILOH. 

planted,  nothing  permanently  injured  it.  Does  this  fact 
also  go  for  nothing,  oh,  bold  contemner  of  its  truths  !  that, 
during  all  the  long  march  of  the  ages,  with  the  help  of 
their  accumulated  light,  knowledge,  experience,  and  skill, 
human  labor  and  human  genius  have  failed  to  prbducc  any 
work  which  so  embodies  its  gist,  incorporates  its  wisdom, 
exhausts  its  meaning,  or  weakens  its  influence,  as  to  super- 
sede it  ?  The  existence  and  the  power  of  the  Bible  in  the 
world  are  stubborn  facts  for  sceptics.  It  has  been  truly 
said  that  it  is  a  standing  miracle. 

MR.  W.  Are  not  some  of  your  remarks  equally  applica- 
ble to  Homer  and  Virgil  ? 

I.  Who  reads  them,  beyond  a  certain  educated  class  ? 
Who  cares  for  them,  in  translations  ?  Will  the  time  ever 
come,  think  you,  when  a  translation  of  them  will  be  found 
in  every  house,  and  the  mass  of  mankind  go  to  it  for  com- 
fort and  guidance  in  every  sort  of  trial,  bereavement,  doubt, 
difficulty  ? 

MR.  W.  Well,  perhaps  not.  But  our  talk  has  drifted 
away  from  the  point  where  it  started,  and  which  interested 
me  most— the  influence  of  education  on  Christianity. 
There  have  been  more  leacned  freethinkers  than  Tom  Paine. 
Is  it  not  true,  after  all,  that  men  of  the  acutest  minds  and 
the  profoundest  learning  have  been  opposed  to  Chris- 
tianity ? 

I.  Certainly.  But  the  argument,  if  it  proves  anything, 
proves  more  for  Christianity  than  against  it.  For,  in  the 
first  place,  men  of  mightiest  intellect  and  vastest  erudition 
have  given  it  their  loving  adhesion  and  service  ;  and,  in 
the  second,  see  how  little  the  adverse  learning,  power,  and 
genius  have  availed  to  injure  it !  I  think  God  has  allowed 
some  of  the  finest  talent  to  waste  itself  in  attacking  it,  just 
to  show  the  futility  of  the  work.  Do  you  remember  Vol- 
taire's boast  that,  though  it  took  twelve  men  to  establish 
Christianity,  he  would  show  that  it  needed  but  one  to  over- 
throw it?  Yet  Christianity  is  stronger  to-day  than  when 


SHILOH.       *  331 

he  assailed  it.  Whereas,  Voltaire  is  but  little  read,  even 
by  his  own  countrymen.  No  writer  enjoys  so  wide  a  repu- 
tation upon  hearsay.  The  great  proportion  of  those  who 
adopt  his  views  and  use  his  arguments,  never  read  a  line  of 
his  works.  They  take  them  at  second-hand.  Lucky  for 
them  that  they  do  !  To  be  obliged  to  wade  through  some 
five  or  six  thousantl  closely  printed  pages,  wherein  attacks 
on  Christianity  are  mixed  up  with  all  sorts  of  subjects, — to 
say  nothing  of  gross  indecency,  ill-timed  buffoonery,  vehe- 
ment denunciation,  unscrupulous  ridicule,  one-sided,  dis- 
torted, inaccurate  statements,  and  unwarrantable  conclu- 
sions,— would  go  far  to  dampen  the  ardor  of  the  devoutest 
disciple,  if  it  did  not  make  him  sick  of  the  very  name  of 
Voltaire !  The  more,  that  he  would  find  so  little  positive 
belief,  to  balance  unbelief.  He  would  find  Voltaire's  creed 
slipping  through  his  fingers,  as  it  seems  continually  to  have 
been  doing  through  his  own.  For  his  later  works  show  a 
marked  deviation  from  his  earlier  opinions; — arguments 
which  he  characterizes  as  sophisms  at  one  point  of  his  life 
prevail  with  him,  at  another ;  objections  which  he  states 
and  answers  here,  overcome  him  there ;  his  mind  oscillates 
perplexingly  between  two  opinions ;  and  the  whole  makes 
nothing  quite  so  clear  as  that  very  little  was  quite  clear  to 
himself.  In  all  his  works,  there  is  a  most  striking  contrast 
between  the  arrogancy  of  his  processes  of  reasoning,  and  the 
humility,  not  to  say  meanness,  of  the  results.  One  is  con- 
tinually amazed  that  he  should  have  trusted  so  implicitly 
to  human  reason,  if  it  could  only  lead  him  to  such  timid, 
qualified,  and  sombre  conclusions. 

MK.  W.  (moodily).  I  cannot  disprove  your  statements. 
You  have  read  more  widely  than  I,  even  (bowing  with 
mock  respect)  of  infidel  writings.  But  it  does  not  matter. 
I  pin  my  faith  upon  no  man,  nor  school ;  I  judge  for  my- 
self. I  bring  all  things  to  the  test  of  my  own  reason. 

I.  Does  it  tell  you  why  and  how  an  inanimate  seed  in 
the  earth  springs  up  to  life,  and  grows  and  bears  fruit  ? 


332  '        SHILOH. 

If  not — if  you  cannot  discover  the  vital  principle,  nor 
how  it  works — why  believe  that  the  seed  has  life  and  brings 
forth  .fruit  ?  .  Would  it  not  be  more  reasonable  to  deny 
both  propositions,  and  plant  no  more  seeds  and  eat  no 
more  fruit  ? 

Mr.  W.  I  don't  see  what  you  are  driving  at. 

I.  Your  boasted  reason  cannot  discdrn  the  vital  princi- 
ple of  inspiration  in  the  Bible,  nor  of  supernatural  power 
in  Christianity, — though  it  lives  and  germinates  and  bears 
fruit  in  countless  human  hearts.  Deny  that  it  exists,  there- 
fore, and  refuse  to  yourself,  certainly — to  others,  if  you  can 
— its  health-giving,  life-giving  sustenance. 

MK.  W.  So  does  Mohammedism  live  and  bear  fruit. 

I.  True,  for  Mohammedism  is  a  religion  and  a  worship, 
not  a  chill  system  of  philosophy.  It  believes  in  God,  and 
does  not  wholly  reject  Christ.  The  Koran  borrows  much 
that  is  good  from  the  Bible.  Its  errors  have  their  legiti- 
mate fruit  in  the  condition  of  Mohammedom  to-day.  Con- 
trast it  with  Christian  countries,  if  you  would  test  the  two 
religions  by  their  fruits. 

MR.  W.  Ah  !  I  would  like  to  read  the  Koran  once ! 

I.  Read  something  better,  read  the  Bible !  Read  care- 
fully one  of  the  gospels,  or  an  epistle,  and  then  read  two  or 
three  chapters  of  the  "  Age  of  Reason,"  and  see  if  you  do 
not  get  a  faint  glimmering,  at  least,  of  the  reason  why  one 
lives  indestructibly,  while  the  other  is  on  the  high  road  to 
oblivion.'  Having  done  that,  perhaps  you  will  be  willing  to 
try  still  another  plan.  Instead  of  puzzling  yourself  with 
the  mysteries,  discrepancies,  and  obscurities  of  the  Bible, 
see  what  light  it  can  throw  upon  the  dark  places  of  your 
own  nature,  upon  the  follies,  contradictions,  and  intricacies 
of  your  heart  and  life.  Though  you  may  not  be  able  to 
understand  and  expound  it,  you  will  find  that  it  very  fully 
understands  and  expounds  you.  Thereby  you  may  get  a 
hint  of  the  several  offices  of  the  Bible  and  the  human  mind: 
the  latter  was  not  put  into  the  world  to  explain  and  harmo- 


SHILOH.  333 

nize  the  former,  but  the  former  to  explain  and  harmonize 
the  latter.  Finally,  if  you  still  doubt  the  Divine  origin  of 
the  Scriptures  ;  try,  for  just  one  week,  to  live  up  to  its  sim- 
ple, undoubted  precepts.  And  if  you  find  it  even  a  harder 
task  to  practice  its  plain  parts  than  to  comprehend  its  diffi- 
cult ones,  perhaps  you  will  ask  yourself  the  question  how  a 
human  mind  ever  happened  to  frame  and  enjoin  a  code  of 
morals  so  irksome  to  human  nature,  so  opposed  to  the  hu- 
man will,  and  so  impossible  of  perfect  human  attainment ! 

"  And  now,"  I  concluded,  "  I  must  really  go.  Where 
do  you  suppose  I  shall  find  Jack  ?  He  has  not  yet  been 
asked  if  he  will  be  my  scholar." 

"There  will  be  no  two  words  about  that,"  said  Mr.  War- 
ren, gruffly.  "  If  I  say  he  is  to  go,  he  goes." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  prefer  to  consult  him.  I  want  no  un- 
willing disciples." 

Not  to  make  a  long  story  longer,  I  bribed  Jack,  unscru- 
pulously. He  had  longings  unutterable,  I  learned,  after  a 
four-bladed  knife.  I  did  not  hesitate  to  promise  him  the 
best  one  procurable  at  Clay  Corner,  so  soon  as  he  could  re- 
peat to  me,  without  error,  the  whole  of  the  Catechism ;  and 
with  the  most  unhesitating  fluency,  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the 
Creed,  and  the  Ten  Commandments. 


XXXI. 

THE    STOLEN   SKETCH. 

3T  more  than  a  day  or  two  after  the  expe- 
dition recorded  in  my  last  letter,  I  made 
one  of  a  totally  different  character,  in  com- 
pany with  Ruth, — Alice  being  away  on  a 
visit.  The  day's  programme  comprehended : 
first,  a  diligent  gathering  and  pressing  of 
ferns,  in  the  dense,  dim.  wood  at  the  foot  of 
the  glen,  for  use  in  winter  decorations  ;  next, 
the  ascent  of  a  neighboring  hill,  for  the  sake  of  the  view 
from  its  summit ;  and,  finally,  a  return  up  the  glen  to 
the  shady,  rock-barricaded  nook  long  ago  described  to 
you,  to  which,  last  point  Mrs.  Divine  promised  to  send 
Leo,  at  noon,  with  a  lunch-basket ;  and  where,  moreover,  we 
purposed  to  spend  as  much  of  the  afternoon  as  should  seem 
good  to  us,  resting,  dreaming,  chatting,  'or  reading  aloud, 
according  to  mood.  Days  thus  spent  out-of-doors,  are 
especially  good  for  Ruth ;  they  are  an  important  part  of 
my  crusade  against  her  home-keeping,  sedentary  habits. 
Under  their  genial  influences,  the  rose  in  her  cheeks  is 
deepening  fast,  the  light  brightening  in  her  eyes.  Needless 
to  add  that  she  grows  more  beautiful,  day  by  day ! 

The  'first  part  of  our  programme  had  been  faithfully  car. 
ried  out, — our  books  filled  with  ferns,  the  hill  climbed  and 
the  view  enjoyed.  We  were  now  in  the  hollow,  resting  on 
the  basin's  bank  of  luxuriant  moss  ;  sometimes  talking,  but 
oftener  listening  in  dreamy  silence  to  the  fresh,  clear  voices 


SHILOH.  335 

of  the  foliage  above  and  the  water  below.  The  hollow  had 
the  essential  charm  of  such  a  spot — perfect  solitude.  We 
might  linger  there  for  hours,  unseen  and  undisturbed,  shut 
in  by  the  interlacing  boughs,  the  hoary  rocks,  the  clear 
basin  on  which  their  heavy  shadow  ever  fell, 'and  wherein 
their  forms  were  distinctly  mirrored.  In  truth,  so  perfect 
was  the  reflection,  so  faithful  the  reproduction  of  every 
line,  tint,  and  motion,  that  the  basin  seemed  to  hang  be- 
tween two  forest  solitudes,  either  of  which  might  be  taken 
for  the  reflected  image  of  the  other.  Stooping  over  the 
water,  we  saw  faces,  too,  bending  forth  from  the  green 
foliage  of  that  under  world  to  meet  our  gaze, — answering 
to  our  smiles,  our  gravity,  our  gestures, — moving  their  lips 
to  the  sound  of  our  words, — and  making  us  feel  vague  and 
visionary  by  their  very  distinctness ;  as  if  the  truth  and 
vividness  of  their  representation  were  so  much  abstracted 
from  our  actuality.  The  notion  made  us  gay,  as  became 
shadows  and  unrealities, — mirth  being  of  so  airy  and  eva- 
nescent a  quality  as  to  associate  readily  with  whatever  is 
illusive  and  unsubstantial ;  while  grief  is  heavy  and  opaque, 
and  must  needs  give  an  account  of  itself  and  justify  its  ex- 
istence, before  we  give  it  leave  to  pass  into  our  sympathies. 

Ruth's  eyes  and  cheeks  were  alight  and  aglow  with 
gayety  and  color,  yet  she  was  weary,  too;  the  long  walk 
had  been  somewhat  trying  to  her  poor,  little,  crooked  feet. 
Seeing. this,  I  drew  her  head  down  on  my  lap,  that  she 
might  rest  the  easier,  and  began  reading  aloud  Tennyson's 
"  Daydream  "  ;  whose  fanciful  theme  and  easy-flowing  meas- 
ure were  well,  suited  to  the  time,  place  and  circumstance. 
For,  as  the  fairy-prince  entered  the  spell-bound  chamber,  I 
saw  Ruth's  eyelids  droop  slowly,  and  the  long  lashes  rest 
upon  the  fair  cheek :  the  rippling  water,  the  musical  rhyme, 
had  lulled  her  to  sleep.  Nor  could  any  "  Sleeping  Beauty  " 
of  fairy-tale  or  poet's  dream  have  been  lovelier  than  she  ! 

For  some  moments,  I  read  on  softly  ;  then,  my  thoughts 
wandered,  my  voice  died  away,  the  book  fell  by  my  side, 


336  SHILOH. 

with  one  finger^  between  ks  leaves,  external  objects  faded 
from  my  sight, — I  had  strayed  as  far  into  the  Land  of 
Reverie,  as  Ruth  into  that  of  Dream. 

Thus,  a  half-hour,  or  more,  stole  by.  I  was  rous'ed  by  a 
rustling  tread  in  the  open  meadow,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
stone  fence ;  in  a  moment  Leo  came  over,  basket  in  mouth, 
and  dropped,  lightly  enough,  upon  the  soft  moss.  I  raised 
my  hand  with  a  warning  gesture ;  Ruth's  slumber  was  still 
so  deep  that  I  did  not  care  to  break  it.  The  dog  understood 
and  obeyed.  He  came  noiselessly  to  my  side,  set  down  his 
basket,  and  rubbed  his  head  lightly  against  my  shoulder, 
by  way  of  mute,  yet  cordial,  greeting.  He  then  surveyed 
Ruth,  for  some  moments,  with  a  curious,  grave  intentness ; 
as  if  he  were  wondering  what  sort  of  thing  was  this  sleep 
of  mortals,  which  held  them  in  such  deathlike  embrace. 
Possibly,  he  contrasted  it  with  the  lighter  slumbers  of  his 
own  race, — broken  by  the  softest  tread,  the  faintest  sound, 
— and,  doubtless,  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  the  latter. 
Suddenly,  he  raised  his  head,  dilated  his  nostrils,  and 
glanced  suspiciously  around.  Then  he  ran  quickly  down 
the  brook's  bank,  alternately  putting  his  nose  to  the  ground 
and  lifting  it  in  the  air.  I  watched  him  idly,  through  the 
intervening  boughs.  At  a  point  a  little  below,  where  the 
widening  stream  is  crossed  by  stepping-stones,  he  seemed  to 
strike  a  trail :  his  manner  became  more  assured  ;  he  crossed 
the  brook  swiftly,  smelling  at  the  stones  as  he  went;  and  I 
soon  saw,  by  the  waving  of  the  ferns  and  bushes,  that  he 
was  coming  up  on  the  other  side.  Some  moments  elapsed, 
and  I  was  fast  sinking  into  reverie  again,  when,  suddenly, 
there  was  a  strange  commotion  behind  the  screen  of  foli- 
age which  topped  the  steep  bank  opposite  me.  Partly  by 
dint  of  straining  my  sight  through  the  clustering  leaves, 
partly  by  means  of  suggestive  sounds  from  behind  them, 
I  made  out  that  Leo  had  surprised  some  intruder  upon 
the  scene : — an  acquaintance,  however,  it  appeared,  for  the 
dog  was  leaping  and  fawning  upon  him,  with  short,  quick 


SHILOH.  337 

barks  of  unmistakable  delight ;  while  the  new-comer  sought 
to  repulse  him  quietly,  but  in  vain.  At  length  a  voice 
exclaimed,  in  distinct,  impatient,  and  not  altogether  unfa* 
miliar  tones : — 

"  Down,  Leo !  down,  sir !  down  ! " 

Ruth  opened  her  eyes  dreamily;  Leo's  bark  subsided 
into  a  low  whine. 

The  next  moment  the  screening  boughs  opposite  parted  ; 
in  the  opening  appeared  a  young  man's  head  and  shoulders ; 
on  his  face  was  an  expression  of  mingled  chagrin,  amuse- 
ment, and  deprecation. 

"  Fairly  caught  in  the  act  you  see  !  "  said  he,  lifting- his 
hat  and  bowing  with  a  somewhat  exaggerated  humility. 
"  Trespassing  and — (ugly  word  !) — stealing.  The  culprit 
surrenders  at  discretion.  He  throws  himself  upon  your 
mercy,  Miss  Frost." 

Ruth  started  up  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  gazed  at 
him  with  wide  open  eyes  of  amazement,  still  soft  with  the 
haze  of  slumber.  I  saw  him  glance  at  her  admiringly. 

"  Mercy  ?  "  I  repeated,  dryly, — "  I  doubt  if  my  stock 
on  hand  is  equal  to  the  demand.  Take  justice,  instead;  it 
is  the  rarer  article,  Mr.  Cambur." 

"  True,"  he  rejoined,  gravely.  "  If  we  could  always  get 
perfect  justice  at  the  hands  of  our  fellow-men,  we  should 
not  so  often  be  obliged  to  ask  for  mercy.  Well,  I  will  try 
the  quality  of  yours !  I  suppose  I  may  come  into  eourt. 
Criminals  on  trial  do  not  usually  stand  outside,  looking  in 
at  the  window ; — though  some  of  them,  doubtless,  would 
not  object  to  such  a  position !  You  will  take  it  as  an  evi- 
dence of  my  guiltlessness  of  evil  intent,  I  hope,  that  I  volun- 
tarily place  myself  completely  in  your  power." 

So  saying  the  artist  swung  himself  down  the  rock,  by 
the  aid  of  a  pendent  bough,  and  sat  down  upon  a  huge, 
outcropping  tree-root  at  its  base.  The  brook  flowed  and 
rippled  between  us. 

"  There  ! "  said  he,  putting  his  hat  on  the  ground  be- 
15 


338  SHILOH. 

side  him,  "that  is  the  proper  arrangement.  This  bank 
serves  for  the  criminal's  box,  that  for  the  judge's  bench.  I 
await  your  sentence,  Miss  Frost.  I  am  curious  to  taste  the 
flavor  of  your  justice." 

I  did  not  answer :  my  attention  was  fastened  upon  Leo. 
He  had  followed  the  artist  down  the  bank ;  and,  being  for- 
bidden by  a  second  energetic  "  Down,  Leo ! "  to  spring 
upon  him,  he  had  cast  himself  at  his  feet,  looking  up  at 
him  with  great,  piteous,  imploring  eyes,  and  giving  vent  to 
his  emotions  by  low,  irrepressible  sounds,  mingled  of  bark, 
whine,  and  howl,  yet  full  of  ecstatic  joy.  In  short,  he 
seemed  to  have  unexpectedly  encountered  the  friend  of  his 
heart,  after  a  separation  of  months  or  years. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  Leo  had  the  honor  of  your  ac- 
quaintance," I  remarked,  glancing  significantly  at  the  dog. 

"I — I, — "  the  artist  stammered  and  hesitated,  drawing 
his  hand  across  his  brow,  "  That  is  to  say,  dogs  always  take 
to  me,  instinctively,"  he  concluded,  somewhat  incoherently. 

"I  should  think  so,"  responded  I,  dryly, — "if  Leo's 
present  performance  is  the  usual  measure  of  their  '  taking 
to  ! '  Do  you  always  '  take  to '  their  names  instinctively, 
too?" 

He  reddened  and  bit  his  lip.  "Leo? — ah,  yes,  to  be 
sure ! "  said  he.  "  Well,  you  see,  I  once  had  a  dog  of  that 
name  myself;  and  it  seems  to  come  to  my  lips  spontane- 
ously, whenever  I  speak  to  one  of  his  kind.  Odd  that  it 
happens  to  be  your  dog's  name,  too  ! " 

"  Very,"  returned  I,  with  quiet  irony.  The  explanation 
was  plausible  enough ;  but  I  was  too  well  acquainted  with 
Leo's  habitually  reserved  and  dignified  deportment  toward 
strangers,  to  believe,  for  one  moment,  that  this  was  his  first 
meeting  with  Mr.  Cambur.  Still,  if  there  were  a  mystery, 
it  was  not  my  business  to  pry  into  it.  The  artist  had  a 
right  to  the  possession  of  his  OAvn  affairs  ; — the  more  indis- 
putably, because  there  was  something  in  his  face  and  bear- 
ing strongly  indicative  of  inward  integrity,  and  seeming  to 


SIIILOH.  339 

be  a  sufficient  guarantee  that  the  ambiguity  wherein  he 
chose  to  leave  the  present  circumstance  did  not  imply  any- 
thing wrong.  Besides,  Mrs.  Danforth  and  her  friend  had 
vouched,  most  emphatically,  for  his  character  and  anteced- 
ents. I  took  pity,  therefore,  upon  his  embarrassment  at 
Leo's  persistent  attention, — so  inevitably  suggesting  a  pre- 
vious acquaintance  that  he  preferred  to  ignore, — and  made 
an  attempt  to  relieve  it. 

"  Leo  !  come  here  !  "  said  I.  "  Mr.  Cambur  can  dispense 
with  your  further  attendance.  Come  to  me,  sir  !" 

To  my  extreme  surprise,  the  dog  only  turned  his  head, 
gave  me  a  pathetic,  pleading  look,  wagged  his  tail, — and 
resumed  his  adoring  contemplation  of  Mr.  •Cambur. 

That  gentleman  looked  more  annoyed  than  ever.  "  Go 
to  your  mistress  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  impatient 
command,  accompanied  by  a  gesture  of  dismissal ;  but  ad- 
ding, with  an  immediate  assumption  of  playfulness ; — "  No" 
need  to  stand  guard  over  me  any  longer,  thou  black  consta- 
ble !  I  have  given  myself  up  to  justice,  and  I  shall  bide 
its  course,  parole  cFhonneur." 

At  his  first  word,  Leo  rose,  slowly  crossed  the  brook, 
and  threw  himself  down  by  my  side,  with  a  heavy  sigh  and 
a  deeply  wounded  air. 

"  Now,"  continued  Mr.  Cambur,  looking  much  relieved, 
"  I  should  be  glad  of  the  learned  judge's  decision,  if  it  is 
ready." 

"We  will  put  you  on  the  witness-stand  first,  if  you 
please.  What  were  you  doing,  over  yonder  ?  " 

"  Urn — sketching." 

"The  landscape,  doubtless,"  observed  I,  in  a  slightly 
satirical  tone.  "  You  might  have  chosen  a  better  point  of 
view ;  your  look-out  from  thence  could  not  have  been  ex- 
tensive." 

"  If  the  truth  must  be  told,"  he  responded,  with  a  mirth- 
ful gleam  in  his  eyes,  "  it  was  not  so  much  the  look-out  as 
the  look-m  which  attracted  me." 


340  SIIILOH. 

"  Humph  !     Let  me  see  your  sketch." 

He  looked  steadily  in  my  face,  for  a  moment,  as  if  seek- 
ing to  read  my  purpose  there ;  then,  he  shook  his  head  du- 
biously. 

"  Of  course,  you  have  a  right  to  demand  it,"  said  he ; 
"  I  do  not  dispute  that.  Only,  listen  to  me  a  moment,  first ; 
I  will  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  matter.  I  have 
been  rambling  over  these  hills  and  dales,  all  the  morning. 
I  struck  this  brook  in  that  dark  wood,  down  yonder,  and 
followed  it  up  ;  crossing  on  the  stepping-stones,  below  there, 
and  coming  up  on  this  side.  Seeing  this  group  of  ti'ees,  and 
suspecting  that  a  green  nook  was  here  concealed,  with -a 
pretty  bit  of  rock  and  water,  I  looked  in.  Imagine  my  sur- 
prise and  delight  at  seeing  two  nymphs  of  the  foun- 
tain (for  such  I  immediately  pronounced  them)  seated 
by  its  brim ;  the  one  asleep,  the  other  lost  in  thought. 
Of  course,  I  gazed, — it  is  an  artist's  delight, — nay,  his  very 
life, — to  look ;  by  it  he  breathes,  feeds,  and  has  his  being. 
Spontaneously,  the  nymphs  had  assumed  attitudes  finer  and 
more  picturesque  than  I  could  have  hit  upon,  if  I  had  tried 
for  months.  In  the  basin  below,  the  picture  was  repeated, 
— line  for  line,  tint  for  tint, — as  if  they  were  creatures 
doubly  existent — on  the  earth  and  in  the  water,  at  the 
same  moment.  The  artist's  instinct  awoke  within  me.  I 
sought  in  my  pockets  for  paper ;  I  found  the  blank  page  of 
a  letter;  I  laid  it  on  the  top  of  my  hat,  and  sketched  away 
as  for  dear  life ;  trembling  lest  some  chance  movement 
should  spoil  those  charming  attitudes,  and  change  those 
graceful  lines,  before  I  could  fix  them  on  paper.  But  my 
unconscious  sitters  were  immobile  as  statues — the  waking 
one  not  less  than  the  sleeper.  As  I  sketched,  I  saw  the  fin- 
ished picture  before  me ;  every  line,  every  color,  perfect. 
It  hung  in  a  gallery,  richly  framed,  an  admiring  crowd  of 
spectators  before  it.  Underneath  was  written,  '  Dream — 
Reverie — Reflection.'  Treat  it  kindly,  I  pray  you,  Miss 
Frost ;  upon  it  I  base  my  hopes  of  earthly  immortality  ! " 


•  SHILOH. 

He  ended  in  a  tone  between  jest  and  earnest,  and  handed 
me  the  sketch  across  the  ripple  of  the  brook.  Ruth  looked 
at  it  with  me,  leaning  over  my  shoulder. 

The  figures  were  clearly,  boldly  outlined;  the  back- 
ground not  even  hinted  at,  which  Mr.  Cambur  explained 
by  saying  he  could  come  and  sketch  that,  at  his  conven- 
ience. My  face  was  indicated  by  a  few  rapid  strokes  only ; 
it  was  on  Ruth's  that  he  had  concentrated  his  attention. 
That  had  been  drawn  with  a  lingering  tenderness  of  touch, 
betraying  how  deeply  his  artist-nature  had  been  stirred  by 
a  thing  so  beautiful.  The  likeness  was  exact : — Ruth's  face 

~  * 

needs  no  idealizing ;  it  is,  in  itself,  as  fair  and  ideal  a  coun- 
tenance as  ever  hovered  in  the  outer  haze  of  an  artist's 
imagination.  The  original  blushed  with  pleasure,  as  she 
looked  at  the  sketch,  drooping  her  head  low;  she  could 
not  help  seeing  how  lovely  it  was. 

"I  think,"  said  I,  after  examining  it  carefully,  "that  I 
must  needs  confiscate  this.  I  have  long  wished  for  a  pic- 
ture of — by  the  way,  I  suppose  you  must  be  introduced ; — 
Miss  Winnot ! — Mr.  Cambur : — " 

(The  artist  rose  and  bowed  low ;  Ruth  bent  her  head, 
blushing)  : — 

"  But,"  I  continued,  "  I  did  not  care  for  a  picture  of  her, 
taken  under  the  depressing,  stiffening  influence  of  a  daguer- 
rian  gallery.  Now,  this  sketch  of  yours  will  do  very  well. 
Only,  I  wish  the  eyes  were  open ! " 

"  So  do  I,"  responded  the  artist.  "  Certain  it  is,  that  no 
one  who  has  once  seen  them  open,  could  thereafter  be 
wholly  satisfied  with  any  picture  which  only  represented 
them  closed.  Miss  Frost,  I  think  this  matter  can  be  ar- 
ranged to  our  mutual  satisfaction.  Permit  me  to  keep  my 
stolen  sketch,  I  am  loth  to  part  with  it.  Bring  Miss  Win- 
not  to  my  studio,  some  day,  and  I  will  make  you  a  sketch 
of  her,  in  color,  that  cannot  fail  to  satisfy  you  better  than 
this ;  though  I  should  need  to  dip  my  pencil  into  some 
marvelous  mixture  of  dawn  red,  sunset  gold,  and  twilight 


342  SHILOH. 

h 

shadow,  adequately  to  represent  her  unutterable  hair  and 
eyes  !  I  shall  be  richly  rewarded  for  my  labor,  if  I  ani  al- 
lowed to  keep  a  copy  for  myself." 

And  thus  it  was  settled. 

After  a  little  more  talk,  I  took  up  the  lunch-basket  and 
lifted  the  cover,  remarking  gravely  : — 

"  I  suppose  artists  never  have  a  literal  appetite,  for 
actual  food ;  as  you  observed  a  moment  ago,  they  live  on 
looking,  sketching,  and  the  like.  But  Miss  Winnot  and  I 
are  commonplace  persons,  with  commonplac'e  wants.  We 
have  spent  the  morning  in  gathering  ferns  and  climbing 
hills ;  we  are  tired — at  least,  we  were; — certainly,  we  are 
hungry.  Leo,  sable  messenger  of  Providence — and  Mrs. 
Divine ! — has  brought  us  seasonable  food.  Suffer  iis  to 
partake  thereof.  You  can  look  on,  and  sketch,  as  a  com- 
panion piece  to  the  other,  '  Refection ' ! " 

He  made  a  comical  grimace. 

"  Or,"  I  proceeded,  taking  out  the  contents  of  the 
basket  and  spreading  them  on  the  moss,  "  if  you  think  a 
taste  of  the  edibles  will  tend  to  make  your  sketch  of  them 
more  spirited,  step  across  the  brook,  and  seat  yourself  on 
that  moss-cushion." 

What  a  merry  lunch  we  had  !  The  artist  brightened  it 
with  the  gleam  of  a  certain  quiet  humor  peculiar  to  him, 
and  Ruth — her  shyness  being  quickly  overcome — with  the 
responsive  sparkle  of  an  almost  childlike  gayety;  while 
sunshine  and  shadow  and  sylvan  scenery  gave  each  it's 
kindly  charm. 

Ruth  was  soon  the  gayest  of  the  party.  Though  more 
commonly  inclined  to  melancholy,  she  is  yet  quite  capable 
of  that  high  carnival  of  the  spirits  which  is  its  natural  offset, 
and  richly  compensates,  by  its  brief  brilliancy,  for  many 
sombre  hours.  In  truth,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  believe 
that  two  maidens,  the  one  mirthful,  the  other  melancholy, 
were  magically  bound  together  by  the  zone  which  clasps 
Ruth's  waist ;  and  that  you  saw  their  faces  alternately, 


SHILOII.  343 

while  their  voices  twisted  together  in  one  rich  chord  of 
harmony.  The  fancy  gains  color  from  the  fact  that  there 
was  always,  even  in  the  most  joyous  ebullition  of  her 
spirits,  some  faint  intimation  of  hidden  mournfulness, 
which  was  yet  the  bewitching  final  touch,  the  ultimate 
charm,  of  her  mirth.  It  was  plain  that  the  effervescing  cup 
must  be  quickly  quaffed,  ere  its  sparkle  and  piquancy  were 
over.  The  artist  felt  this,  I  saw.  As  became  the  professor 
of  an  imaginative  art,  he  was  endowed  with  a  quick, 
spiritual  insight  into  many  matters  not  within  the  scope  of 
actual  vision.  He  threw  himself  into  the  frolic  with  a  zest 
that  betrayed  his  sense  of  its  evanescent  character.  For 
some  flitting  moments,  we  seemed  to  have  strayed  far 
within  the  limits  of  Arcadia,  leaving  the  dusty,  cumbrous 
habitudes  of  modern  life  at  its  golden  gate.  Or,  our  feet 
had  been  lifted  from  the  heavy  soil  of  earth  into  a  region 
of  myth  and  mirth  inaccessible  in  ordinary  moods  and 
moments ;  and  all  the  more  eagerly  enjoyed  because  we 
knew  it  was  so  doubtful  if  ever  again  we  should  find  the 
way  thither. 

To  say  truth,  the  foregoing  remarks  apply  better  to 
Ruth  and  the  artist  than  to  myself.  I  soon  subsided  into 
little  else  than  A  mere  spectator  of  their  mirth ;  encourag- 
ing, but  scarcely  sharing,  it ;  seldom  catching  the  ball  of 
jest  and  playfulness  which  they  tossed  back  and  forth, 
through  the  flicker  of  the  sunshine  and  the  dance  of  the 
leaf-shadows,  except  to  save  it  from  an  untimely  fall  to  the 
ground.  It  suited  me  better  to  lean  back  against  the  trunk 
of  an  overarching  tree,-  and  watch  the  airy  grace  and  skill 
with  which  they  kept  it  up.  Thus,  I  happened  to  note  how 
Mr.  Cambur's  face,  ordinarily  somewhat  graver  and  ma- 
turer  of  expression  than  fairly  belongs  to  his  years,  had 
grown  animated  and  youthful  under  the  happy  influence  of 
the  moment ;  and  so,  the  clue  to  that  perplexing  resem- 
blance, before  spoken  of — and  which  had  not  been  less 
troublesome  throughout  this  second  interview — was  sud- 


344  SHILOH. 

denly  supplied.  Through  the  first  gap  in  the  conversation, 
therefore,  I  sent  the  following  quiet  remark ; — 

"  I  have  just  remembered,  Mr.  Cambur,  who  it  is  that 
you  resemble  so  strongly." 

He  started  as  if  it  had  been  a  missile  of  some  sort. 
"  Ah,  indeed?  "  said  he,  giving  me  a  quick,  keen  glance. 

"  Yes  : — a  young  painter  who  came  to  Rome  a  year,  or 
more,  before  I  left  there, — Mr.  Archum, — or  Harry  Archum, 
as  everybody  called  him ;  for  he  was  one  of  those  frank, 
genuine,  generous  youths,  whose  Christian  name  comes 
most  easily  to  the  lips.  He  used  to  come  often  to  my 
father's  study ;  I  remember  him  well.  Your  resemblance 
to  him  is  striking ;  yet  there  is  a  marked  difference,  too. 
He  was  yoiinger,  slenderer,  gayer,  than  you  are,  and  he 
wore  no  beard,  only  a  light,  curling  moustache.  Still,  I 
think  you  could  pass  for  his  elder  brother.  Do  you  not 
know  him  ?  I' 

"  Know  him  ?  certainly,  quite  well,"  he  answered,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  brook,  in  a  half-sad,  half-meditative, 
way. 

"  My  father  used  to  think  him  a  most  promising  neo- 
phyte in  art,"  I  continued.  "  Does  he  fulfil  that  promise  ? 
Is  he  doing  well  ?  " 

"  Not  so  well  as  he  ought  to  do." 

"  Indeed  ?  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it !  Yet  a  friend  of  mine, 
in  Rome,  mentioned  a  picture  that  he  had  recently  painted 
— called  '  Waiting,'  I  think — in  no  measured  terms  of  com- 
mendation ;  and  I  have  much  respect  for  her  opinion  in 
such  matters. .  Have  you  seen  it  ?  "• 

"  I  have." 

"  And  how  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Not  very  well ;  that  is,  it  does  not  satisfy  me,  at  all." 

I  felt  provoked.  "  I  might  have  known  better  than  to  ask 
you,"  I  rejoined,  caustically.  "  Artists  are  not  much  given 
to  the  praise  of  one  another's  works.  I  never  yet  knew  a 
painter  to  bestow  any  hearty  applause  on  a  fellow-painter's 


SHILOH.  345 

picture,  in  his  particular  line  of  art ;  nor  a  sculptor  to  turn 
an  admiring  gaze  upon  anybody's  lump  of  moist  clay  but 
his  own ! " 

The  artist  might  have  been  excused  if  he  had  shown 
himself  hurt  or  indignant  at  my  speech  ;  but  he  only  looked 
at  me  with  a  curious,  inexplicable  smile.  "  When  you 
know  me  better,  Miss  Frost,"  said  he,  quietly,  "  you  will 
recall  such  part  of  that  sweeping  censure  as  you  intend  for 
me.  I  do  admire,  heartily,  whatever  of  truthful  beauty  or 
of  beautiful  truth  I  find  in  anybody's  work ;  either  in  con- 
ception, execution,  or  intent.  So  far  from  being  captiously 
or  jealously  critical  of  other  men's  labors,  I  hold  that  any 
picture,  or  sculpture,  or  engraving, — however  imperfect, — 
which  1ms  brought  help,  comfort,  or  aspiration,  to  one 
human  soul,  has  thereby  acquired  a  gracious  and  inde- 
feasible rio;ht  to  be."  Pie  ended  in  a  tone  that  showed  he 

O 

was  deeply  in  earnest. 

This  lapse  into  seriousness  was  the  inevitable  turning- 
point  in  our  mood.  The  hour  of  careless  gayety  was  over. 
Our  talk  waxed  grave ;  possibly  dull.  I  am  sure  it  would 
be  so  on  paper. 

Ere  long,  the  artist  rose.  "Your  sylvan  hospitality  is 
so  pleasant,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  in  danger  of  trespassing 
on  it  too  long.  It  is 'time  for  me  to  go  back  to  my  solitary, 
shadowy  studio.  Pray  remember,  Miss  Frost,  that  I  am 
at  your  service,  in  respect  to  Miss  Winnot's  picture,  when- 
ever you  please  to  bring  her  thither.  Addio  I " 

He  bowed,  and  took  his  way  down  the  glen.  Leo 
started  up,  and,  after  some  hesitation,  followed  him.  He 
soon  returned ;  but  with  a  more  satisfied  air.  He  had  not 
been  dismissed,  I  fancied,  without  some  compensating  kind- 
ness,— a  word  to  soothe,  or  a  caress  to  delight,  his  faithful, 
affectionate  heart. 

MALA  (suddenly);  Wherever  there  is  concealment,  there 
is  usually  something  wrong. 
15* 


346  SHILOH. 

BONA.  Is  it  out  of  the  truth,  purity,  transparency,  of 
your  own  heart  that  that  suspicion  arises  ? 

MALA  (insisting).  But  where  there  is  nothing  wrong, 
there  can  be  no  necessity  for  concealment. 

BONA.  Say,  rather,  Where  thei'e  is  anything  really, 
radically  wrong,  it  is  difficult,  wellnigh  impossible  to  con- 
ceal it.  If  evil  has  taken  up  its  abode  in  the  heart,  it  is 
sure  to  betray  its  presence  in  unguarded  looks  arid  tones, 
and  in  chance  words.  Whereas,  the  invariable  language 
of  Mr.  Cambur's  features  and  bearing  is — as  you  have  felt 
intuitively,  and  acted  upon  that  intuition — truth,  honor, 
generosity,  kindness  of  heart.  Besides,  there  is  a  difference 
between  concealing  and  being  silent.  A  man  may  have  no 
disposition  to  hide  his  affairs ;  who  yet  does  not  feel  called 
upon  to  discuss  them  with  every  chance  comer.  Reticence 
is  oftentimes  but  the  natural  offspring  of  painful  recollec- 
tions. Mr.  Cambur  has  a  right  to  your  charitable  con- 
struction of  his  silence,  till  you  have  better  reason  for  sup- 
posing him  to  be  unworthy  of  it. 

I.  At  all  events,  I  will  ask  Mr.  Divine  where  he  got 
Leo. 

BONA.  Would  it  not  be  more  delicate  and  generous, 
more  in  accordance  with  the  Golden  Rule,  to  leave  the  mat- 
ter just  where  the  person  most  concerned  chose  to  leave  it  ? 

To  confess  the  unlovely  truth,  I  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
this  inquiry.  Going  home,  I  met  Mr.  Divine  at  the  gate, 
on  his  swift  way  to  the  barn,  and  put  the  question  with 
reference  to  Leo,  not  stopping  for  a  second  thought.  The 
answer  was  brief,  definite,  and  conclusive : — 

"I  got  him  of  Major  Burcham's  Irishman,  when  he 
wasn't  much  more  than  a  pup." 

It  left  me  more  in  the  dark  than  ever ! 


XXXII. 

AN  ARTIST'S  STUDIO. 

FORTNIGHT  went  by  ere  I  claimed  the 
fulfilment  of  Mr.  Cambur's  promise ;  but 
it  was  not  a  fortnight  fruitless  in  results, 
as  regards  the  growth  of  our  acquaintance. 
During  its  progress,  the  elfish  force,  or  fate, 
called  Circumstance,  seemed  to  delight  in 
throwing,  us  together  at  every  turn.  I  called 
upon  Mrs.  Danforth,  and  found  the  artist  ten- 
anting her  porch,  placidly  awaiting  her  return  from  a  visit 
to  a  neighbor.  I  met  him  twice  or  thrice  at  Essie's ;  for  he 
had  early  won  the  freedom  of  the  Volger  premises,  and  ap- 
peared equally  at  home  in  the  field  discussing  soils  and 
crops  with  the  farmer,  and  in  the  parlor  listening  to  his 
daughter's  piano.  A  thorough  liking,  which  promised 
to  blossom  out  into  warm  and  lasting  friendship,  sprang 
Tip  between  him  and  Mr.  Taylor,  and  I  seldom  went  to 
the  Gwynne  Place,  without  encountering  him  in  sitting- 
room  or  study,  tossing  the  crowing,  gurgling  baby  up 
to  the  ceiling,  or  dissertating  earnestly  upon  Italy  and 
Art  to  the  clergyman.  Lastly,  by  way  of  climax,  I 
came  suddenly  upon  him,  one  morning,  seated  at  his  ease 
beside  Aunt  Vin's  cheese-press,  regaling  himself  with  choice 
1  moi-sels  of  the  curd,  and  listening,  with  an  extremely  di- 
verted face,  to  the  maker's  conversation.  I  could  not  but 
marvel  to  see  how  quickly  all  Shiloh  had  opened  its  doors 
to  him,  how  easily  he  had  won  a  place  in  its  friendly  re- 


348  SHILOH. 

gard,  and  how  readily  he  adapted  himself  to  an  unaccus- 
tomed manner  of  life  and  a  strange  people. 

In  many  of  these  encounters,  Ruth  had  been  with  me. 
It  was  rather  on  the  assured  footing  of  acquaintance, 
therefore,  than  as  mere  art-visitors,  that  we  finally  knocked 
at  the  door  of  Mr.  Cambur's  studio.  It  was  opened  by 
the  artist  in  person,  palette  in  hand. 

A  painter's  studio  is  a  spot  which,  to  our  preconceptions, 
at  least,  seems  always  situated  a  little  way  above  the  dust 
and  sordidness  of  the  actual  world,  in  a  region  of  dream, 
vision,  and  enchantment,  enriched  with  beauties  of  scenery 
and  of  being  far  beyond  anything  to  be  met  with  in  the 
domain  of  reality.  It  is  a  sort  of  half-way  station  between 
earth  and  heaven,  we  think,  from  whence  the  artist  paints 
both,  with  pencils  dipped  alternately  in  remembrance  and 
in  prophecy.  And  though  the  present  example  did  not 
fully  realize  this  ideal  (as  in  truth,  no  studio  ever  did), — 
but,  rather,  served  to  show  that  the  steps  by  which  Art 
climbs  to  her  grandest  heights  must  all  be  taken  toilsomely 
Upon  the  earth, — yet  indications  were  not  wanting  that  ifc 
was  a  room  marked  out  from  the  uses  and  pleasures  of  or- 
dinary life  by  a  purpose  and  a  character  of  its  own. 

The  windows  were  carefully  darkened,  save  one,  whose 
upper  half  showed  a  small  square  of  sunless  sky,  and  ad- 
mitted that  partial  light  which,  with  its  concomitant  of 
.  strongly-defined  shadow,  best  develops  the  pictorial  char- 
acter in  objects,  or  imparts  it  to  them.  Near  the  middle  of 
the  room  stood  an  easel,  with  a  picture  just  "  sketched  in  " 
upon  it ;  one  or  two  others,  awaiting  but  the  final  touch, 
hung  where  the  light  visited  them  most  kindly  ;  unframed 
canvases  leaned  against  the  wall,  turning  their  backs  churl- 
ishly on  the  visitor ;  and  pencil-sketches  were  pinned  up 
here  and  there,  or  made  an  artistic  confusion  on  the  table, 
assisted  by  many  curious  little  shreds  from  the  skirts  of  ' 
Antiquity, — gems,  seals,  coins,  ivory-carvings,  etc., — found 
in  and  about  the  soil  of  Rome. 


SHILOH.  349 

"  At  last ! "  exclaimed  the  artist,  with  a  genial  smile. 
"  Yoxir  welcome  has  been  wraiting  for  you  long." 

"  I  hops  it  has  not  cooled  by  the  delay." 

"  Certainly  not :  it  is  too  genuine  for  that.  Sit  here, 
Miss  Winnot." 

He  placed  chairs  for  us,  and,  after  a  little  talk,  brought 
forward  such  of  his  works  as  he  cared  to  show. 

The  first  was  the  picture  of  which  Mrs.  Danforth  had 
spoken, — "  Dreams."  A  beautiful  girl,  lost  in  a  sunset 
reverie — that  was  all  the  detail  to  be  put  into  words.  But, 
as  you  looked,  you  saw  that  not  only  the  girl,  but  the 
drapery,  the  sky,  the  atmosphei-e,  dreamed,  too.  Gazing 
upon  it  long,  you  also  dreamed  ;  your  ideas  became  vague 
and  visionary,  your  imagination  spread  its  wings  and 
floated  off  unawares  in  the  immaterialized  gold  of  the 
sunset  air.  For  the  atmosphere  was  the  really  wonder- 
ful thing  about  the  picture.  Soft,  rich,  luminous,  serene  ; 
neither  mist,  nor  haze,  nor  sunshine,  but  with  something  of 
the  brightness,  the  softness,  and  the  vagueness  of  each ;  it 
might  have  been  the  very  ether  wherein  a  poet  dreams 
and  paints  his  ideal  pictures. 

Mr.  Cambur  next  uncovered  one  half  of  a  large  canvas, 
leaving  the  other  still  veiled. 

"  The  cuiiain  conceals  \vhat  was  once  a  failure,  and  is  now 
an  unsightly  daub,  which  I  spare  you  the  discomfort  of  look- 
ing at,"  said  he,  as  he  stood  before  the  picture,  arranging 
the  folds.  "  It  was  my  design  to  paint  a  Wise  and  a  Foolish 
Virgin,  believing  that  the  aim  and  significance  of  the  para- 
ble might  as  clearly  be  brought  out  by  two  typical  figures  as 
by  ten.  I  succeeded  tolerably  well  with  the  representative 
of  folly,  but  the  other  was  wholly  unsatisfactory:  I  have 
rubbed  it  out,  and  am  waiting  until  a  better  mood,  better 
influences,  a  whiter  inspiration,  shall  enable  me  to  take  it 
up  again  with  a  clearer  probability  of  success." 

He  stepped  aside,  and  the  Daughter  of  Folly  was  re- 
vealed to  view ; — fast  locked  in  sleep,  her  graceful  limbs  all 


350  SHILOII. 

unstrung,  a  marvelous  languor  diffused  throughout  her 
frame,  and  her  empty  lamp  slow  sliding  from  her  uncon- 
scious hand.  Fair  and  foolish — not  wicked,  that  would 
have  made  her  unbeautiful ; — merely  a  lover  of  pleasure, 
of  ease,  of  brightness :  over  whose  soul  no  tides  of  living 
waters  had  flowed,  to  quicken  the  spiritual  life,  or  had 
flowed  in  vain.  A  type  of  mere  physical  beauty,  warm 
with  life  and  health,  rich  in  color  and  grace,  not  devoid  of 
many  soft  and  womanly  attributes ;  yet  so  manifestly  of  the 
earth,  earthy,  that  you  sighed  a.s  you  gazed,  to  feel  how 
utterly  useless  it  would  be  to  awaken  her.  She  would  but 
half  open  upon  you  beautiful,  soft,  vague  eyes,  murmur 
faintly,  "  A  little  more  slumber  ! "  and  close  them  again  in 
a  deeper  sleep  than  before. 

We  looked  at  the  picture  long  and  in  silence.  The 
artist  gazed  upjon  it  also,  with  a  thoughtful  face. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  the  story  of  Andrea  del  Castagno," 
said  he,  at  length. 

"  I  do  not,"  replied  Ruth,  quickly.  "  Tell  it  to  me, 
please." 

"  Andrea  del  Castagno  was  a  painter  of  Florence,  who 
lived  and  wrought  in  days  when  Art's  power  and  progress 
were  greatly  limited  by  the  poverty  of  her  means ;  when 
she  was  obliged  to  content  herself  with  the  comparatively 
meagre  and  feeble  effects  produced  by  painting  in  distem- 
per, as  it  is  called ;  that  is,  with  colors  mixed  with  gums, 
size,  whites  of  eggs,  etc.  Dissatisfied  with  the  limited 
resources  of  his  palette,  and  ambitious  of  distinction,  An- 
drea was  constantly  dreaming  of  some  "new  method  which 
should  more  perfectly  reproduce  the  subtile  refinements  of 
Nature's  coloring, — the  exquisite  quality  of  her  tints,  the 
transparency  of  her  lights,  the  soft  clearness  of  her  shadows, 
the  far  inward  shining  of  gems  and  of  human  eyes ;  and  her 
wonderful  blending  of  them  all, — light  beneath  shade,  color 
gleaming  through  color : — he  dreamed  and  he  despaired. 

*  About  this  time,  came  a  rumor  that  a  new  and  efficient 


SHILOH.  351 

method  of  preparing  colors,  by  which  all  these  effects  might 
be  faithfully  represented,  had  really  been  discovei-ed  at  the 
north ;  and,  shortly  after,  there  appeared  in  Florence  a 
young  Venetian,  Domenico  by  name,  who  was  acquainted 
with  the  process  of  painting  in  oil.  Andrea  quickly  won  his 
friendship,  his  confidence,  and  his  secret.  Then  he  foully 
assassinated  him,  that  he  might  remain  sole  possessor  of  the 
new  art,  in  Florence.  He  returned  to  his  studio  and  his 
easel,  unsuspected;  and  innocent  persons  suffered  for  his 
crime.  But,  from  that  moment,  all  his  work  revealed,  with 
terrible  power  and  distinctness,  the  fearful  fact  of  a  guilty, 
remorseful  soul  hidden  in  the  bosom  of  the  worker.  Day 
by  day,  his  pencil  recorded  that  soul's  history  on  canvas, 
for  the  reading  of  future  ages, — its  temptation,  its  fall,  its 
growing  burden  of  horror  and  remorse, — till,  on  his  death- 
bed, he  confessed  the  special  crime  which  had  first  stained 
it,  and  henceforth  colored  all  its  conceptions." 

"  How  strange  ! "  said  Ruth,  drawing  a  long  bi-eath ;  and 
then  giving  the  Foolish  Virgin  a  look  that  seemed  to  ask 
what  possible  connection  could  exist  between  that  heedless 
damsel  and  this  story  of  crime. 

The  artist  answered  it  as  if  it  had  been  articulate.  "  My 
story,  Miss  Wiunot,"  said  he,  "was  intended  to  point  the 
moral  that  a  painter's  canvas  reflects  the  character  of  his 
life  as  perfectly  as  a  mirror  reflects  his  features.  My  Fool- 
ish Virgin  points  it,  also.  "When  I  began  that  picture,  I 
was  in  Florence ;  dissolved  and  lost  in  its  inexpressibly 
beautiful  life,  with  its  endless  gratifications  for  the  senses 
of  sight  and  hearing ;  overcome  by  the  Lotus-breath  of  its 
stealing  south  wind,  the  heavy  scents  of  its  flowers,  the 
whisperings  of  its  leaves  and  fountains,  the  lulling  song  of 
its  bells,  .the  rich  languor  of  its  sunshine.  In  short,  I  was 
leading  a  dreamy,  sensuous,  self-indulgent  life ;  all  whose 
influences  were  favorable  to  the  conception  of  the  Foolish 
Virgin — and  to  that  only.  For  it,  I  needed  little  more 
than  a  rich  profusion  of  color,  a  beautiful  model,  a  south- 


352  SHILOH. 

warmed  fancy;  all  these — and  all  outside  influences,  as 
well — were  easily  made  harmonious  with  the  principal  note 
of  my  theme,  and  reduced  to  a  perfect  chord.  But,  for 
the  Wise  Virgin,  something  more  was  demanded  —  the 
beauty  of  holiness ;  and  that  is  beyond  the  power  of  mere 
pigments.  It  must  be  conceived  in  the  clear  regions  of  an 
undefiled,  heaven-enlightened  imagination ;  and  wrought 
out  by  the  aid  of  an  active,  divine  life-principle  within. 
Despite  their  many  and  glaring  technical  faults,  this  spirit- 
ual beauty  has  never  been  so  clearly  represented  on  canvas 
as  in  the  works  of  Fra  Angelico, — the  monk  who  '  never 
began  a  picture  without  a  prayer,'  and  whose  whole  ai't-life 
has  justly  been  termed  'a  hymn  of  pi-aise.'  Nowhere  else 
do  we  find  faces  of  saints  and  angels  so  purged  from  all 
earthliness,  and  so  irradiated  with  heavenly  glory.  What 
Paul  Akers  said  of  one  of  them,  applies  with  nearly  equal 
force  to  all, — '  It  comes  to  me  as  beauty  and  purity  im- 
materialized,  and  my  soul  entertains  it  as  a  guest  whose 
footsteps  shook  not  the  threshold  of  sense.'  If  I  could  but 
borrow  of  the  gentle  monk's  pure  inspiration,  while  I  paint 
my  Wise  Virgin  ! " 

"  The  source  from  whence  it  was  drawn  is  still  accessi- 
ble," I  observed,  quietly.  "  But  what  was  your  concep- 
tion of  the  Daughter  of  Wisdom  ?  " 

"  I  scarce  remember  what  it  was  /  I  can  give  you  an 
idea  of  what  it  is.  I  see  her  springing  swiftly  forth  to 
meet  the  Bridegi*oom ;  her  newly-kindled  lamp  is  in  her 
hand,  throwing  a  strong  light  upon  her  pure,  noble  fea- 
tures, which  are  still  further  illuminated  from  within  by 
joyous  anticipation.  She  looks  straight  before  her,  with 
an  eager,  intent  gaze,  as  if  already  catching  sight  of  the 
Bridegroom,  in  the  distance,  while  her  whole  sovd  goes  out 
to  meet  him :  yet,  with  a  tender,  unfailing  charity,  she 
touches  her  sleeping  sister  as  she  passes  her  by,  loth  to  go 
without  a  last  attempt  to  waken  and  warn  her.  Her  face 
is  so  full  of  earnest  impulse,  and  her  figure  of  airy  motion, 


SHILOH.  353 

that  she  seems  actually  stepping  forth  from  the  canvas — 
ah  !  if  I  could  only  fasten  her  upon  it !  " 

"  You  will  do  it  some  day,"  said  I ;  "  for  the  conception 
is  too  beautiful  to  be  lost." 

•   Then,  he  set  before  us  a  female  head,  saying  simply, 
"  The  Call." 

It  was  not  needed.  The  fair,  listening  face,  slightly 
raised ;  the  eyes,  gazing  intently  in  the  direction  of  the 
voice  just  heard,  and  recognized;  told  their  own  story, — 
and  told  it  so  well  that  we  looked  and  listened,  too. 

The  next  was  also  a  head, — '.'  Repose."  I  had  not  looked 
at  it*"  many  moments,  when,  with  the  fine,  quick  insight 
which  belongs  to  the  true  artist,  he  laid  it  aside,  saying, — 

"  You  do  not  care  for  it,  I  see.  Yet  artists  rate  it  higher 
than  the  other.  They  account  it  a  tolerable  success  in  the 
department  of  color." 

"  I  do  not  care  for  color,  unless  there  is  a  soul — a  signi- 
ficance— under  it,"  returned  I,  with  more  frankness  than 
courtesy. 

Mr.  Cambur  turned  a  surprised  face  upon  me,  and  his 
eyes  lit.  " Not  care  for  color!"  he  exclaimed, — "why,  it 
is  the  darling  child  of  light,  the  very  crown  and  glory  of 
the  material  universe.  To  be  consistent,  he  who  does  not 
care  for  color  should  not  care  for  light ;  since,  as  color 
without  light  is  impossible,  so  light  without  color  would 
be  unendurable.  Color  is  to  the  eye  what  tone  is  to  the 
ear ;  capable,  in  its  combinations,  of  the  most  varied  and 
exquisite  harmony.  Color  is  the  most  vivid  of  all  the 
ideas  that  make  up  my  conception  of  heaven.  It  is  never 
the  form  of  the  holy  city — the  new  Jerusalem,  descending 
from»God — which  enraptures  my  imagination,  but  its  in- 
effable, entrancing  glory  and  magnificence  of  color; — the 
yellow  gleam  of  its  golden  streets,  the  fadeless  green  of  its 
tree  of  life,  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  its  gates  of  pearl,  the 
myriad  changeful  hues  of  its  walls  of  precious  stones — -jas- 
per, sapphire,  jacinth,  amethyst,  and  all  the  shining  gems 


.354  siiiLoir. 

between,  lit  by  the  glory  of  God,  and  radiating  colors  too 
gorgeous  for  mortal  vision.  What  endless  joy  for  the  eye 
is  stored  up  in  that  splendor  and  opulence  of  color !  Take 
it  away  from  the  inspired  description,  and  see  how  much  of 
the  charm  is  fled !  " 

"  True,"  said  I.  "  But  what  if  the  color  were  only  a 
thin  crust  of  paint  ?  " 

He  stared,  uncomprehending.  He  had  entirely  lost 
sight  of  the  point  where  the  discussion  began.  Recol- 
lecting himself,  after  a  moment,  he  said,  with  a  good- 
humored  laugh, — 

"Upon  my  word,  I  had  quite  forgotten  that  unlucky 
picture  of  mine ; — do  not  set  down  my  rhapsody  for  a  tilt 
in  its  defence.  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  attempt  to  argue 
with  the  feeling  stirred  by  my  pictures,  be  it  indifference  or 
dislike.  Artists,  as  well  as  authors,  must  take  such  measure 
of  appreciation  as  is  vouchsafed  them,  and  be  thankful.  In- 
appreciation — "  He  hesitated. 

"  They  can  attribute  to  ignorance,"  said  I,  laughingly 
finishing  the  sentence. 

"  ~No — not  always.  Oftener,  it  is  the  offspring  of  a  lack 
of  sympathy  with  their  mood  or  intent.  The  worst  of  it 
is,  the  critic  himself  seldom  recognizes  it  for  that.  Instead 
of  saying,  '  This  picture  does  not  suit  me,'  he  pronounces, 
'  It  is  good  for  nothing.'  The  first  he  has  an  xindoubted 
right  to  say,  anywhere,  of  anything  ;  the  last  he  should  be 
careful  of  saying  unless  he  is  reasonably  certain  that  his 
disapprobation  has  its  deep  foundation  in  the  immutable 
laws  of  life  and  art,  and  not  in  mere  individual  taste.  But 
here  is  something,  Miss  Frost,  which  perhaps  will  please 
you  better."  * 

He  held  up  a  pencil-sketch,  the  first  rough  jotting-down 
of  his  ideas  for  a  picture  of  Faith  and  Guidance.  It  repre- 
sented a  young  girl,  walking  meekly  along  a  narrow  path, 
lit,  for  a  few  footsteps  in  advance,  by  the  small,  bright 
flame  of  a  lamp  in  her  hand.  Beside  her,  but  unseen,  a 


SHILOH.  355 

watchful,  protecting  angel  walked,  too ;  whose  white  wing, 
pointing  upward  into  the  sky,  cast  a  deep  shadow  across 
her  brow  and  eyes. 

The  artist  gave  the  sweet  key-note  of  the  sketch,  by 
saying,  quietly ; — "  I  suspect  that  many  of  our  trials  are 
but  the  shadows  of  angels'  wings." 

My  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears.  If  we  could  always 
think  that,  how  much  easier  to  bear  the  trial ! 

This  sketch  interested  me  most  of  all, — partly  on  ac- 
count of  the  beauty  and  pathos  of  the  subject ;  and  partly 
because  it  still  glowed  with  the  fire  of  inspiration,  bringing 
the  spectator  closer  to  the  heart  and  imagination  of  the 
artist  than  the  picture  to  be  elaborated  from  it  would  ever 
do.  For  this  was  genius  in  its  first  fervent  heat,  its  swift 
moment  of  effervescence ;  unadulterated  by  any  colder  or 
staler  mood ;  full  of  the  animating  power  of  a  single,  earn- 
est thought.  It  affected  me  so  deeply  that  I  turned  away, 
not  caring  to  see  anything  more.  Here  was  the  gospel— 
the  good  word — for  which  I  had  come  hither.  Leaving  Mr, 
Cambur  explaining  another  sketch  to  Ruth,  I  walked  away 
toward  the  window. 

But,  as  I  went,  my  skirt  caught  on  one  of  the  unframed 
canvases  standing  against  the  wall,  and  threw  it  down,  face 
upward.  I  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and,  involuntarily,  my 
gaze  fastened  upon  it. 

It  was  an  exquisitely  lovely  female  head ;  the  features 
pure  and  delicate,  the  coloring  rich  and  soft.  But  its  chief 
charm  was  in  the  expression  of  the  face, — an  earnest  look- 
ing forth,  blended  with  something  of  solicitude,  something 
of  hope,  something  of  submissiveuess, — all  held  together  in 
that  fine  equilibrium  so  essential  to  a  work  of  high  art. 

"  This  is  the  best  thing  I  have  seen  yet,"  said  I.  "What 
do  you  call  it?" 

"It  is  called — "  the  artist  hesitated  long,  and  the  word 
seemed  to  be  drawn  forth,  by  Truth,  from  some  exceeding 
deep  well,  where  it  would  fain  have  hidden  itself — "  "Wait- 
iris." 


356  SHILOH. 

"  For  what  is  .she  waiting  ?  "  I  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  For  whatever  you  please,"  returned  he,  smiling.  "  I 
have  long  since  learned  that  the  interpretation  of  my  pic- 
tures varies  with  the  eyes  and  the  moods  that  look  upon 
them.  They  never  tell  exactly  the  same  story  to  any  two 
persons, — the  details  differ,  if  the  substance  is  identical." 

I  continued  to  survey  the  picture  attentively.  Sud- 
denly, the  mystic  chord  of  association  stirred  within  me. 
"  '  Waiting  ! '"  I  exclaimed,  giving  Mr.  Cambur  a  surprised 
look, — "  why  that  was  the  subject  of  Harry  Archum's  last 
picture, — the  one  which  has  been  so  favorably — "  I  stopped, 
confounded.  I  had  just  discovered  the  initials, "  H.  B.  A.," 
painted,  artist-wise,  in  one  corner  of  the  canvas. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Cambur,  in  a  slightly  constrained 
tone ;  "  this  is  a  copy" of  that.  He  painted  it  for  me." 

Involuntarily,  I  glanced  at  "The  Call,"  and  was  at 
once  struck  by  the  great  similarity  of  style  and  treatment 
in  the  two  pictures.  Impossible  to  believe  that  they  had 
not  been  conceived  in  the  same  imagination,  and  executed 
by  the  same  hand.  The  first  breathing  of  an  odd  suspicion 
went  through  my  mind.  He  colored ;  his  quick  perceptions 
detected  it  at  once. 

Ruth,  less  interested  in  the  "  Waiting,"  had  gone  back 
to  the  "  Foolish  Virgin,"  and  was  studying  her  attentively. 
The  artist  drew  near  to  me. 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  can  keep  my  own  secrets,"  I  answered,  lightly,  "  and 
I  recommend  others  to  do  the  same,  except  where  intimate 
friendship  warrants  or  enjoins  their  disclosure." 

He  drew  himself  up.  "  You  wish  me  to  understand  that 
you  are  not  my  friend,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  perhaps  not — in  the  closer  and  truer  sense,  that 
is.  Not  enough  your  friend  to  have  any  good  claim  upon 
your  confidence ;  yet  too  much  your  friend  to  listen  to  any 
forced,  unpremeditated  revelation,  of  which  you  might  re- 
pent to-morrow." 


SHILOII.  357 

"  Pardon  me,  but  it  was  not  so  much  confidence  as 
explanation  that  I  was  about  to  offer  you." 

"  Believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  do  not  need  it.  Know- 
ing that  you  are  Harry  Archum,  and  remembering  how 
highly  my  father  thought  of  you,  I  am  satisfied  that  your 
motives  for  your  present  incognito  are  good,  or,  at  least, 
innocent." 

He  looked  down  on  me,  gravely  smiling.  "  Trust  with- 
out friendship  !  "  said  he,  musingly, — "  well,  it  is  better 
than  friendship  without  trust." 

"  Friendship,  Mr.  Cambur,  is  generally  of  slow  growth  ; 
trust  is  often  intuitive,  and  springs  up  in  a  moment." 

"  In  some  cases,  friendship  is  partially  the  offspring  of 
the  will,"  he  replied.  "  Miss  Frost,  just  now  you  alluded 
to  your  father.  You  do  not  know  how  strongly  I  was 
attached  to  him,  nor  with  what  good  reason.  He  it  was 
who — when  I  sank  down,  bewildered,  speechless,  before  the 
mighty  tide  of  art  that  swept  over  me  on  my  arrival  in 
Rome ;  crushed  with  the  sense  of  my  own  littleness  and 
feebleness,  and  wondering  that  I  had  ever  dared  to  call 
myself  an  artist, — he  it  was  who  lifted  me  up  and  gave  me 
new  hope  and  confidence.  He  first  spoke  to  me  words  of 
kindly,  intelligent,  discriminating  praise.  I  vowed  to  my- 
self that  I  never  would  forget  it,  and  I  never  have  forgotten 
it.  It  so  happened  that  I  was  in  Florence  at  the  time  of 
his  death,  or  I  should  have  been  at  your  side,  caring  for 
him  as  a  son,  for  you  as  a  brother.  He  went  so  suddenly, 
at  the  last ! — I  did  not  even  know  that  he  was  gone,  \intil 
you  had  left  Italy.  I  returned  to  Rome,  to  find  only  a 
vacant  place,  where  I  had  always  before  found  ready  sym- 
pathy, wise  counsel,  seasonable  encouragement,  a  cordial 
welcome.  And,  for  his  sake,  you  see,  do  you  not  ?  that  I 
must  needs  be  his  daughter's  friend,  whether  she  will  be 
mine,  or  no.  My  willing  service,  my  faithful  regard  are 
always  at  her  disposal.  Whenever  she  needs  them,  she  has 


358  SHILOH. 

but  to  reach  out  her  hand,  and  take  them  up.  They  will 
be  ready  for  her." 

My  eyes  were  fast  filling  with  tears.  Seeing  them  just 
ready  to  fall,  he  gave  my  hand  a  gentle,  sympathizing  pres- 
sure, and,  with  instinctive  delicacy,  went  to  join  Ruth. 

As  for  me,  I  sat  down  and  settled  accounts  with  my 
pride.  For  it  was  that  which  had  repelled  the  artist's  con- 
fidence. It  had  haughtily  declined  to  listen  to  any  confi- 
dential communication  from  Harry  Archum  which  was  not 
spontaneous,  but  merely  forced  out  by  circumstances.  In 
return,  he  had  heaped  coals  of  forbearance  and  generosity 
on  its  head.  I  need  not  say  that  I  found  no  balance  in  its 
favor ! 

In  a  few  moments,  Ruth  came  toward  me,  with  an  ap- 
pealing look. 

"  Mr.  Cambur  asks  if  I  am  ready  to  sit,"  said  she. 
"  Won't  you  come  ?  " 

The  necessary  arrangements  were  quickly  made,  and 
the  sitting  began. 

For  a  time,  I  sat  and  watched  the  twain.  They  made 
a  pleasing  picture,  in  'the  artfully  arranged  lights  and 
shadows  of  the  studio  ; — the  absorbed  and  delighted  artist, 
standing  at  his  easel ;  the  beautiful  sitter,  blushing  beneath 
his  intent  gaze.  I  wondered  if  the  opening  chapter  of  a 
pleasant  little  romance  might  not  be  shaping  itself  before 
my  eyes.  What  more  could  an  artist  need — or  ask — than 
to  have  that  surpassingly  lovely  face  always  at  his  side,  for 
inspiration,  model,  comfort,  blessing  ? 

Then,  as  R\ith  grew  to  be  more  at  ease  in  her  position, 
and  began  to  respond  to  the  artist's  efforts  to  engage  her 
in  conversation,  I  went  and  sat  down  before  the  "  Wait- 
ing," letting  it  sink  into  my  heart.  Ah,  Francesca !  if  I 
could  but  look  forward  to  my  future  in  just  the  spirit  which 
softens  and  beautifies  that  face ! 


XXXIII. 

THE    UNOPENED    LETTER. 

URING  the  few  weeks  past,  some  of  the 
hitherto  disconnected  threads  of  this  nar- 
rative  have  become    curiously  entangled. 
It  is  typical,  perhaps,  of  the  way  in  which 
lives    and   characters,    apparently   the    most 
remote,  will  be  found  to  have  been  intimate 
in  relation  and  recipi-ocal  in  influence,  when 
the  day  of  knowing  as  we  are  known  shall 
enlighten  ou.r  souls. 

To  make  you  understand  it  all,  I  must  'go  back  to  a  cer- 
tain morning  near  the  end  of  August.  What  a  morning 
it  was  !  There  had  been  a  shower  in  the  night,  and  the 
earth — still  fair  with  undimmed  summer  greenness  and 
glory — seemed  as  daintily  fresh  and  sweet  as  a  newly- 
washed  babe.  The  sight  stirred  Mrs.  Prescott's  instincts 
of  neatness  into  renewed  activity.  Soon  after  break- 
fast, .  I  heard  her  energetic  footsteps  overhead  in  the 
garret,  mingled  with  enlivening  sounds  of  brushing 
and  scrubbing;  and  the  staircase  was  quickly  monopo- 
lized by  a  procession  of  brooms,  dustpans,  mops,  pails  of 
water,  etc.,  of  which  Alice  acted  as  the  unwilling  marshal. 
A  little  later,  I  heard  the  busy  household  reformer's  voice 
projected  from  the  garret  Avindow  toward  Mrs.  Divine  at 
the  well-curb. 

"  You  have  no  idea,  mother,  how  nasty  this  garret  is  ! 
I  shouldn't  suppose  it  had  had  a  thorough  cleaning  out 


360  sniLon. 

since  the  year  One.  The  dust  is  half  an  inch  thick  under 
the  eaves,  and  there's  cobweb  enough  hanging  from  the 
rafters  to  make  a  carpet  for  the  floor,  if  'twas  all  spun  and 
wove ! " 

"  Um  ! "  returned  Mrs.  Divine,  in  a  tone  to  indicate  that 
her  mind  was  busy  with  some  other  subject,  and  declined 
to  qui^  it  for  the  consideration  of  the  one  thus  brought  to 
her  notice. 

"  For  my  part,"  pursued  Mrs.  Prescott,  seeing  that  no 
further  response  was  to  be  hoped  for,  and  with  a  slight  ac- 
cession of  sharpness  in  her  tone,  "  if  there's  anything  I 
like,  it's  to  be  clean.  I  can't  abide  nastiness.  I  don't 
mean  to  wallow  in  the  dirt  till  I'm  buried  in  it.  And 
that's  the  worst  thing  about  being  buried,  to  my  mind ;  I'd 
rather  be  burnt  up,  or  dissolved  in  a  barrel  of  aqua  fortis." 

"  Priscilla,"  remarked  Mrs.  Divine,  mildly,  yet  not 
without  a  certain  decision  in  her  tone,  "  the  garret's  clean 
enough  for  my  purpose,  just  as  'tis ;  if  it  ain't  for  yours, 
you've  got  the  privilege  of  scrubbing  it  till  it's  suited  to 
your  mind.  But  don't  expect  me  to  bother  about  it ;  I've 
got  my  soap  to  attend  to, — which  you  use  up  faster  than  I 
can  make  it.  I  reckon  dirt  is  only  one  of  the  miseries  that 
Eve  brought  on  us  by  eating  the  apple,  and  I  don't  mean 
to  spend  all  my  strength  in  fighting  that,  so  I  shan't  have 
any  to  bring  to  bear  on  the  rest.  When  the  earth  gets  too 
filthy  for  decent  folks  to  live  in,  perhaps  the  Lord'll  be 
good  enough  to  send  another  deluge,  and  give  it  a  good 
washing  out." 

"  He's  more  likely  to  send  a  fire,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Pres- 
cott, grimly.  "  And  that  reminds  me,  there's  the  greatest 
lot  of  old,  useless  trumpery  up  here  that  was  ever  got  to- 
gether ;  if  I  had  my  way,  I'd  make  a  bonfire  of  it.  I  can't 
think  what  you're  saving  it  all  for  !  Do  let  me  clear  some 
of  it  out ! " 

Mrs.  Divine  quickly  let  go  the  dripping  bucket,  and 
mounted  the  stairs,  in  terror  for  the  safety  of  her  cherished 


SHILOH.  361 

accumulations.  Some  of  that  "  trumpery,"  doubtless,  was 
yery  closely  entwined  with  her  heart-strings.  Time,  while 
making  it  vulgar,  dingy,  and  ridiculous  to  others,  had 
apotheosized  it  to  her  sight.  Moreover,  it  was  better  than 
a  chronological  table  of  her  life. 

At  the  foot  of  the  garret  stairs  she  stopped,  as  if  struck 
by  a  sudden  thought,  and  called  out  to  me  ; — "Miss  Frost, 
if  you've  a  mind  to  step  up  garret  a  minute,  I  guess  I  can 
show  you  something  that'll  interest  you.  There's  a  whole 
secretary  full  of  curiosities  up  there,  that  brother  Horace 
brought  home  from  sea." 

The  secretary  proved  to  be  a  time-battered  combination 
of  desk  and  bureau,  such  as  was  in  vogue  a  century  ago, 
minus  two  claw-feet,  half  the  brass  rings  that  did  the  duty 
of  modern  knobs,  and  the  lid  which  had  .been  converti- 
ble into  a  writing-table.  The  top  was  composed  of  the 
oddest  little  drawers  and  pigeon-holes ;  enough,  it  would 
seem,  hopelessly  to  confuse  the  memory  of  whoever  sought 
to  make  use  of  them  ; — even  a  ghostly  owner  (and  it  must 
have  had  more  than  one)  would  need  all  his  spiritual  attri- 
butes to  discover  in  which  of  them  he  had  deposited  his 
mortal  secrets.  Altogether,  it  looked  just  fit  to  be  the  re- 
pository of  the  curious  medley  stored  within  it, — shells, 
corals',  uncut  gems,  coins,  medals,  buckles,  amulets,  seeds, 
Aveapons,  African  fetishes,  and  whatever  of  rare  or  curious 
the  deceased  captain  (who  appears  to  have  had  a  very 
pretty  taste  in  such  matters)  had  been  able  to  pick  up  dur- 
ing his  lifelong  employment,  in  one  capacity  or  another,  in 
the  merchant  service.  Many  an  odd  or  obsolete  knick- 
knack,  for  which  a  virtuoso  would  give  half  his  fortune, 
was  here  hidden  ;  and  likely  to  remain  so  till  the  dry- 
rotted  rafters  overhead  should  fall  and  bury  them  in  their 
ruins. 

I  was  vainly  trying  to  pick  out  and  comprehend  the 
curiously-recondite  stitch  of  a  piece  of  Fejeean  embroidery, 
while  listening  to  Mrs.  Divine's  animated  rendition  of  an 
16 


302  SHILOH. 

odd  legend  attached  to  it ;  when  she  "broke  off  abruptly, 
and  uttered  an  exclamation  that  instantly  drew  my  atten- 
tion. She  was  holding  a  letter  up  to  the  light — a  large, 
thick  letter,  written  on  a  sheet  of  extraordinary  size,  and 
folded  and  sealed  as  was  customary  before  envelopes  came 
into  use.  The  paper  was  yellow  as  parchment,  and  the 
seal  was  unbroken. 

"  If  that  don't  beat  all !  "  she  cried.  "  Here  I've  found 
a  letter  stuck  fast  in  the  crack  between  the  back  and  the 
bottom  of  that  drawer;  and  the  direction  is  in  Horace's 
handwriting ;  and  it's  never  been  opened  !  And  he  died 
fifteen  year  ago,  last  spring!  Can  you  make  out  that 
direction,  Miss  Frost?  My  spectacles  don't  seem  to  see 
quite  so  well  as  they  used  to." 

I  took  thft  letter,  and  read,  "  Frederick  Thorne,  Esq., 
No.  49 Street,  New  Orleans." 

"  Why,  that's  stranger  yet !  "  exclaimed  she,  staring  at 
me  in  great  amaze.  "That  must  be  Mrs.  Thome's  hus- 
band, who  died  eight  or  ten  year  ago,  at  least, — and  I 
never  heard  Horace  mention  his  name,  and  didn't  suppose 
he  knew  him  !  A  letter  from  a  dead  man  to  a  dead  man, 
and  the  seal  never  broke — it's  not  quite  comfortable ! " 
And  Mrs.  Divine  looked  around  as  if  she  half-expected  one 
or  the  other  of  the  interested  parties  to  gather  up  his  bones 
and  his  ashes,  and  whatever  shadowy  habiliments  came  to 
hand,  and  come  forth  from  the  dimmest  corner  of  the  ecarret 

'  O 

to  claim  his  forgotten  property. 

"  What's  the  use  of  wasting  so  much  time  on  the  out- 
side?" demanded  Mrs.  Prescott,  impatiently.  "Open  it, 
and  see  what  is  in  it." 

Mrs.  Divine  looked  at  her,  meditatively.  "  I  don't  fed 
certain  I've  got  any  right  to  do  that,"  she  answered  slowly  ; 
"  I  reckon  Mrs.  Thorne  or  Rick's  got  the  best  right  to  open 
Mr.  Thome's  letters." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Prescott, — "  when  the 
person  the  letter  is  written  to,  is  dead,  it's  always  sent 
•  back  to  the  writer." 


SHILOH.  "363 

"  When  he's  alive,"  returned  Mrs.  Divine, — "  but,  you 
see,  Horace  ain't.  And  it's  beat  into  my  mind,  somehow, 
that  he  never  wrote  to  Mr.  Thorne,  except  on  Thome's  own 
business.  And  I  don't  feel  no  call  to  pry  into  that  man's 
affairs,  dead  or  alive." 

Mrs.-  Prescott  launched  another  suggestion.  "  Most 
likely  Horace  concluded  not  to  send  it,  after  'twas  writ- 
ten." 

Mrs.  Divine  gave  it  a  momentary  consideration,  and 
shook  her  head.  "  If  he  had,  he  would  have  destroyed  it. 
No,  no,  Priscilla ;  either  he  thought  'twas  sent ;  or  he  was 
taken  away  before  he  had  a  chance  to  send  it.  You  re- 
member he  died  on  a  return  voyage,  within  sight  of  port." 
The  matter  was  finally  referred  to  Uncle  True.  Having 
turned  the  letter  over  and  over,  spelled  out  its  address, 
weighed  it  on  his  palm,  and  balanced  it  on  his  forefinger, 
the  wood-pile  philosopher  decided  thus : 

"  If  a  man's  doin's  died  with  him,  and  was  buried  five 
foot  under  ground,  as  he  is, — the  best  thing  to  do  with  such 
a  letter  as  this,  'ud  be  to  put  it  right  inter  the  middle  of  a 
good,  hot  fire,  and  look  t'other  way  while  the  ashes  was 
agoin'  .up  chimney.  But  we're  all  links  in  a  chain,  and  it 
don't  do  to  let  go  of  one  on  'em  till  it's  hitched  on  to  an- 
other. A  man's  papers  gen'rally  does  that.  There's  one 
chance  to  nine  that  this  letter  was  meant  to  do  suthin'  o' 
that  sort.  And  we  mustn't  send  that  chance  a  scurryin' 
up  chimney  in  smoke.  Put  on  your  bonnet,  Hannah,  and 
go  up  to  Mis'  Thorne,  and  you  and  she  open  the  letter  to- 
gether." 

Mrs.  Divine  looked,  aghast.  "  Land  sakes  !  I  can't 
do  any  such  thing !  I'm  right  in  the  thick  of  soap- 
making." 

"  Wall,  send  Priscilly,  then." 
It  was  Mrs  Prescott's  turn  to  demur. 
"  What !  and  leave  all  that  muss  on  the  stairs  and  up 
garret !     Not  for  forty  letters !    I  shan't  stop  and  dress  up 


SIIILOII. 

till  I'm  through,  and  that  won't  be  before  night.  Besides, 
I  don't  know  Mrs.  Thorne,  and  I  don't  want  to." 

Mrs.  Prescott,  be  it  understood,  is  not  one  whit  less  fas- 
tidious about  her  acquaintance,  in  her  own  way,  than  Mrs. 
Thorne  herself. 

There  was  a  moment  of  perplexed  silence.  Curious  as  the 
party  undeniably  were,  their  curiosity  was  not  to  be  gratified 
at  the  expense  of  personal  integrity,  nor  of  household  order. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Divine  at  last,  "  it  must  wait  till  to- 
morrow, then."  And  she  turned  slowly  away. 

Uncle  True  looked  dissatisfied,  and  scratched  his  head 
reflectively.  "  It  strikes  me  that  a  letter  that  has  waited 
fifteen  year  to  be  opened,  has  waited  about  long  enough," 
said  he.  "  News  and  peaches  often  spile  by  keepin'  just  a 
leetle  too  long.  I'd  go  up  thar  myself,  only  my  old  chair 
ain't  able  to  travel  quite  so  fur.  Perhaps  Miss  Frost  'ud  do 
it,  now;  she's  allers  obligin'.  Besides,  she  knows  Mis' 
Thorne.  She'd  do  up  the  bus'ness  right,  and  bring  us  hum 
a  full  report." 

And  as  this  plan  seemed  best  to  .satisfy  the  homely  up- 
rightness of  the  parties, — leaving  a  way  open  for  the  speedy 
gratification  of  curiosity,  or  interest,  without  interfering 
with  the  day's  labors, — it  was  decided  xipon. 

I  found  Mrs.  Thorne  in  her  old  place,  at  her  old  occupa- 
tion. She  listened  to  my  communication  attentively,  and 
then  fell  into  a  fit  of  profound  thought ; — apparently  she 
was  digging  deep  into  her  recollections,  and  weighing  the 
letter's  possibilities  with  extreme  care.  Rousing  herself, 
she  took  up  her  work  again,  with  something  like  a  sigh, 
and  said  wearily ; — "  It  is  probably  some  unimportant  mat- 
ter of  business.  Mr.  Thorne  was  once,  for  a  short  time, 
in  a  shipping  house.  Oblige  me  by  opening  the  letter  and 
reading  it  aloud." 

To  enable  you  to  understand  its  contents  better  than  I 
did,  I  give  you,  in  advance,  the  explanations  with  which 
Mrs.  Thorne  favored  me  after  the  reading. 


SHILOH.  3G5 

When  she  married  Mr.  Thorne,  he  was  the  presumptive 
heir  of  his  uncle,  Marcus  Thorne,  a  moderately  wealthy  and 
immoderately  eccentric  bachelor.  The  marriage,  however, 
or  the  bride,  or  something, — for  she  did  not  make  this  point 
qxiite  clear, — so  displeased  the  uncle  as  to  cause  a  partial 
estrangement;  which  continued,  with  little  diminution, 
till  her  husband's  death.  Up  to  this  period  she  believed 
that  the  old  gentleman  had  contemplated  no  other  disposal 
of  his  property;  but  after  that  event  she  had  heard  of  his 
making  some  efforts  to  learn  the  fate  or  the  whereabouts  of 
one  Cyrus  Thorne, — an  elder  half-brother  of  her  husband, 
who  had  put  the  seal  to  a  reckless  youthful  career  by  com- 
mitting some  petty  crime,  and  then  running  off  to  sea; 
since  which  time  he  had  never  been  heard  of,  and  was  be- 
lieved'to  be  dead.  Nothing  came  of  them,  however,  and 
Mrs.  Thorne  had  quietly  settled  down  to  the  belief  that  her 
son's  prospects  were  bright  and  sure ;  when,  two  or  three 
years  afterward,  Marcus  Thorne  went  to  his  kindred  dust. 
The  reading  of  his  will  disturbed  that  conviction.  After 
providing  for  Rick's  college  expenses,  and  naming  a  certain 
sum  to  be  paid  to  Carrie  on  her  wedding-day,  or,  failing 
that,  on  her  twenty-fifth  birthday ;  it  left  the  bulk  of  his 
property  in  trust  for  Cyrus  Thorne,  or  his  heirs,  who  were 
to  be  sought  for  with  all  speed  and  diligence.  Whenever 
undeniable  evidence  of  their  death  was  forthcoming,  it 
might  be  divided  between  Rick  and  Carrie  in  proportions 
specified  by  the  will; — an  instrument  inspired,  it  would 
seem,  partly  by  a  latent  affection  for  the  runaway,  and 
partly  by  a  bitter  determination  that  none  of  his  property 
should  ever  pass  into  Mrs.  Thome's  possession. 

Twelve  years  had  elapsed.  Cyrus  Thorne,  or  his  heirs 
were  still  to  be  heard  of,  and  Mrs.  Thorne  had  grown  old 
in  suspense,  longing,  resentment,  and  despair. 

Imagine,  then,  how  her  eyes  first  gloomed,  and  then 
sparkled,  as  she  listened  to  Captain  Hart's  letter,  which 
was  long,  and  which  I  epitomize  for  you. 


366  SIIILOH. 

The  honest  seaman  wrote  that  he  believed  it  to  be  his 
duty  to  inform  Mr.  Thome  that,  in  a  small  seapoi-t  of  South- 
ern Italy,  into  which  he  had  been  driven  by  stress  of  weather ; 
he  had  encountered  a  pale,  sombre,  consumption-stricken 
man,  who  had  made  himself  known  to  him  as  Cyrus  Thorne. 
He  had  with  him  a  child, — a  motherless  girl, — his  love  for 
whom  seemed  to  be  the  sole  sentiment  of.  his  waning  life ; 
and  whose  future  engrossed  his  thoughts.  Would  Captain 
Hart  touch  there  on  his  return  ?  If  he  were  still  alive,  lie 
would  embark  with  him  for  America ;  if  not,  he  would  find 
the  child  at  his  lodgings,  witli  full  poAvers  and  instructions 
for  conveying  her  to  her  relatives. 

The  Captain  did  "  touch,"  and  was  greatly  shocked  to 
learn  that  Cyrus  Thorne  had  died  very  suddenly  of  hemoi'- 
rhage  within  a  few  days  of  his  departure.  So  suddenly, 
indeed,  that  he  had  had  no  opportunity  to  give  any  direc- 
tions concerning  the  child ;  and  her  nurse  had  finally  sur- 
rendered her  to  the  charge  of  an  American  gentleman,  who 
had  stopped  in  the  town  for  a  few  days  with  his  family ;  and 
whose  interest  in  the  orphan  was,  doubtless,  heightened  by 
the  fact  that  his  own  little  daughter  was  about  the  same 
age.  He  had  promised  to  find  out  her  friends,  if  possible ; 
if  not,  to  take  kind  care  of  her  future.  But  the  nurse  went 
on  to  state  that  the  party  went  up  to  Sondrio,  and  that  she 
had  learned  through  a  friend  employed  as  a  servant  in  the 
principal  inn  that  the  child  had  sickened  and  died  there. 
To  enable  Mr.  Thorne  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  truth  of  this 
story,  Captain  Hart  had  taken  pains  to  find  out,  by  dint  of 
patient  inquiry  in  the  town,  that  the  said  gentleman  was 

from  Philadelphia,  and  that  his  name  was .  But  here  I 

was  completely  at  fault.  The  Captain's  hand  was  crabbed 
and  difficult  enough,  in  straightforward  sentences;  and 
names,  to  which  the  context  gives  no  clue,  are  always  most 
puzzling  in  manuscript.  By  dint  of  united  effort,  we  made 
out  the  Christian  name  to  be  Chester ;  but  the  surname  was 
absolutely  undecipherable.  Mrs.  Thorne  thought  it  looked 


SHILOH.  8G7 

something  like  Sanford ;  so  it  did*  but  between  the  "  some- 
thing like"  and  identity  was  a  sufficiently  wide  margin. 

She  gave  up  the  perplexing  study,  and  rose  with  a 
dawning  triumph  in  her  eyes.     "  You  will  leave  me  this 
letter  ?  "  she  asked.    "  It  will  be  wanted  in  evidence.    Rick 
and  I  shall  set  out  for  New  Orleans  to-morrow." 
•    I  assented. 

"  And  Rick,"  she  went  on,  as  if  unable  to  suppress  her 
growing  exultation, — "  Rick  will  have  his  rights,  at  last ! 
He  ought  to  have  had  them  before,  but  it  is  not  yet  too 
late.  He  has  not  yet  learned  to  have  a  will  distinct  from 
his  mother's." 

She  thought  only  of  Rick — Carrie  was  forgotten !  Or, 
it  might  be  truer  to  say,  she  thought  only  of  herself.  In 
Rick's  good  fortune  she  saw  but  her  own  elevation  to 
wealth,  position,  power.  What  an  utter  dislike  I  felt  for 
•her,  as  I  listened  !  And  Mala  told  me  decidedly  that, 
however  glad  she  might  be  for  Carrie's,  or  even  for  Rick's 
sake,  she  shoiild  have  chosen  to  be  the  bearer  of  such 
tidings  to  anybody  on  earth  rather  than  Mrs.  Thorne.  To 
which  Bona  replied,  quietly,  that  that  was,  perhaps,  the 
very  reason  why  I  had  been  selected  for  the  office. 

"  Read  that  !  "  continued  Mrs.  Thorne,  possessed  by  the 
restless,  garrulous  spirit  of  excitement,  and  thrusting  an 
open  letter  into  my  hand,  "  read  that,  and  see  What  I  have 
had  to  endure  so  long  !  Mr.  Paul  Venner  will  write  me  no 
more  such  letters,  I  fancy  ! " 

I  glanced  at  it  mechanically,  intending  to  push  it  aside, 
and  remained  staling  at  the  open  page  in  amazement.  I 
forget  the  contents, — a  curt  intimation  that  Rick's  expenses 
must  be  diminished,  I  think, — but  the  handwriting  was  to- 
tally unknown  to  me — not  a  familiar  line  nor  letter  in  it 
anywhere.  I  could  not  help  saying  : — 

"  This  is  not  Paul  Venner's  writing — it  must  be  that  of 
some  clerk." 

"  It  is  his,  unquestionably,"  she  replied,  bitterly.     "  I 


368  SHILOII. 

have  good  reason  to  know  it  well.  It  first  made  me  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact  that,  instead  of  being  left  with  a 
comfortable  support,  I  had  almost  nothing ;  and  I  have 
often  watched  Mi%.  Venner  write  while  he  was  drawing  up 
papers  for  me  to  sign." 

I  went  home  bewildered.  Is  Paul  Venner  so  altered, 
then,  that  even  his  handwriting  partakes  of  the  change? 
But  what  is  it  to  me  ? 

It  is  curious  to  note  how  quickly,  when  one  link  of  the 
solution'  of  a  mystery  is  found,  others  start  up  to  complete 
the  chain.  Near  the  church,  I  met  the  artist.  Something 
moved  me  to  tell  him  the  strange  story  to  which  I  had  been 
listening. 

"  What  did  you  say  was  the  nurse's  name  ?  "  he  asked, 
when  I  had  done. 

"Paola  Valpino." 

"Then  I  can  tell  you  just  where  she  is  to  be  found. 
Doubtless,  her  deposition  will  have  to  be  obtained.  She 
left  La  Pizzo  years  ago,  and,  on  account  of  some  family 
difficulties,  took  good  care  to  leave  no  trace  behind  her. 

She  had  charge  of  the  house  in  the  Via  del ,  at  Rome, 

where  I  had  my  studio ;  and  she  once  told  me  this  very 
story, — that  is  to  say,  what  she  knew  of  it." 

My  report  elicited  not  a  few  exclamations  of  wonder,  on 
my  return  home.  Mrs.  Divine  stared  at  me  alternately 
over  and  under  her  spectacles,  as  it  went  on ;  and  did  not 
bethink  herself  that  it  would  be  easier  to  take  them  off, 
until  it  was  finished.  Then  she  remarked : — 

"  Well !  I  certainly  didn't  think  that  Priscilla  was  about 
any  special  business  of  the  Lord's,  when  she  went  to  clean- 
ing that  garret !  And  if  I  hadn't  taken  it  into  my  head  to 
show  you  Horace's  curiosities,  that  letter  might  have  lain 
•  there  another  fifteen  year  !  I'll  never  think  anything  is  of 
no  consequence  again  !  " 

"  Umph  ! "  said  Mrs.  Prescott,  drily,  "  the  next  time  the 


SIIILOH,  369 

Lord  sets  us  to  find  anybody's  fortune  in  our  garret,  I  hope 
it'll  be  our  own  ! " 

"  Fortune,"  observed  Uncle  True,  "  is  a  word  I  ain't 
partial  to.  It's  so  apt  to  get  a  '  mis '  tacked  on  to  the  fust 
end  on't  afore  you  know  it !  If  the  Lord  ever  uses  it — 
which  I  doubt, — I'm  sartin  He  never  applies  it  to  houses, 
nor  lands,  nor  bank-stock.  I  reckon  your  an'  my  fortunes, 
Priscilly,  '11  never  be  found  in  the  garret,  unless  we  take 
to  keepin'  our  Bibles  an'  sayin'  our  prayers  thar !  " 

That  afternoon,  I  sent  the  address  of  Paola  Yalpino,  so 
unexpectedly  obtained  from  the  artist,  to  Mrs.  Thome ;  and 
felt  that  my  part  in  the  affair  was  ended. 
16* 


XXXIV. 


DAIST. 

^  the  following  day  Mrs.  Thorne  left  for 
New  Orleans.  I  told  myself  frankly  that  I 
was  glad  she  had  gone.  There  ai'e  some 
I  S^^^T  naturcs  the  association  with  which  tends  inevit- 
\  ''Qwfft^'  ably  to  debasement, — a  lowering  of  the  moral 
tone,  and  a  darkening  or  obliquation  of  the 
moral  vision.  It  must  be  a  strong  mind,  a 
tenacious  idiosyncrasy,  a  most  alert  and  \inyield- 
ing  will,  that  can  long  endure  their  contact  without  deteri- 
oration. I  had  learned  to  dread  Mrs.  Thome's.  There 
was  some  dull,  remote  chord  in  my  heart  that  seldom  failed 
to  acknowledge  the  subtle  power  of  her  influence,  by  giv- 
ing forth  a  harsh  and  discordant  sound.  I  breathed  freer 
therefore,  in  knowing  that  influence  would  be  felt  no  more. 
The  temporary  twisting  of  our  life-threads  was  over  ;  here- 
after each  would  be  spun  separately  to  its  end.  She  would 
not  return  to  Shiloh  until  after  my  departure  ;  or  she  would 
only  come  to  gather  up  such  of  her  personal  effects  as  were 
worthy  of  ti'ansferring  to  another  and  a  different  sphere. 
Four  or  five  days  afterward,  Mr.  Divine  having  kindfy 
placed  the  "  woman-horse  "  (the  current  phrase  for  an  ani- 
mal suited  to  feminine  use),  and  the  small  top-buggy  (a 
recent  purchase),  at  my  disposal,  I  set  forth  alone,  purpos- 
ing to  call  upon  Mrs.  Danforth,  shop  a  little  at  Clay  Corner, 
and  visit  the  railway  station  in  search  of  a  package  of 
music,  etc.,  to  be  sent  me  by  express. 


SIIILOH.  371 

Mrs.  Danforth  came  first  in  order. .  After  we  had  dis- 
cussed various  affairs  of  the  Sewing  Society,  and  arranged 
for  a  full  report  of  its  acts, — to  be  read  at  the  next  meeting, 
as  the  speediest  and  most  effectual  way  of  causing  certain 
grumblers  to  regale  themselves  in  the  fashion  known  as 
"  eating  one's  own  words,"^the  stream  of  her  talk  began 
to  eddy  around  various  points  of  personal  or  family  history, 
of  no  special  interest  to  me.  I  waited  absently,  therefore, 
for  a  gap  in  the  narrative  through  which  I  might  civilly 
take  my  leave,  when  a  name,  carelessly  tossed  upon  its  sur- 
face, caught  my  attention. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  of  whom  were  you  just  now 
speaking  ?  " 

"  Of  Chester  Danforth,  my  husband's  brother." 

A  fac-simile  of  that  illegible  name  in  Captain  Hart's 
manuscript,  stereotyped  on  my  memory  by  a  long  process 
of  patient  study,  instantly  rose  before  me.  Danforth — 
Chester  Danforth  !  certainly ;  how  blind  I  was  not  to  have 
seen  it  before ! 

"Do  you  know  if  he  was  ever  in  the  south  of  Italy?" 
I  asked. 

"To  be  sure  he  was,  as  we  have  sorrowful  cause  to 
remember.  He  lost  his  only  child  there  by  the  malarial 
fever." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  how  very  sad ! "  returned  I,  mechanically, 
too  intent  upon  my  own  train  of  thought  'to  give  much 
heed  or  sympathy  to  the  event.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
•his  having  taken  an  orphan  girl  under  his  charge  at  La 
Pizzo ! " 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course.  It  was  Pearl — more's  the 
pity!" 

"  And  she  died  soon  after  at  Sondrip  ?  " 

f*  Died  1  good  gracious,  no  !  She  is  very  much  alive— - 
vather  too  much  so,  all  things  considered ! '' 

My  surprise  verged  upon  incredulity.  "  Dq  I  under- 
stand you  to  say,"  I  asked,  with  very  distinct  and  deliber- 


372  SHILOH. 

ate  emphasis,  "  that  the  orphan  girl  of  whom  Mr.  Chester 
Danforth  took  charge  at  La  Pizzo,  in  the  year  18 — ,  lived, 
and  is  still  alive  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  replied  she,  nodding  her  head.  "  She  is 
called  Pearl  Danforth,  and  I  have  the  inappreciable  honor 
to  be  her  aunt  by  adoption.  Chester  failed  in  every  attempt 
to  find  out  her  relatives  ;  and  was  glad  to  fail,  I  suppose, 
for  he  and  his  wife  had  become  so  attached  to  her  in  the 
year  and  a  half  that  they  had  her  with  them  in  Europe, 
that  it  would  have  been  like  losing  a  second  child  to  have 
given  her  up.  So,  finally,  they  adopted  her  formally — a 
hazardous  proceeding,  I  think,  with  a  strange  child,  for  you 
cannot  tell  what  sort  of  blood  it  may  have  in  its  veins,  nor 
in  what  unpleasant  shape  it  may  manifest  itself.  Pearl, 
certainly,  has  some  very  queer  drops  in  hers.  She  grew  up 
a  strange,  self-willed,  erratic  creature,  as  innocent  to  out- 
ward appearance  as  a  child,  but  in  reality  as  cool  and  subtle 
and  slippery  as  quicksilver.  Chester  had  hard  Avork  to 
keep  her  in  order,  at  the  last ;  and  after  he  died,  her  moth- 
er— that  is  to  say,  Chester's  wife — could  not  control  her  at 
all ;  since  then  she  has  taken  her  own  course  pretty  much. 
She  consorts  chiefly  with  spirit-rappers,  clairvoyants, 
short-skirted  Bloomerites,  long-haired  philanthropists,  and 
the  like ;  she  even  professes  to  be  a  remarkably  good  me- 
dium (of  the  Old  Nick,  I  grant !)  herself,  and  can  tip 
tables  and  spell  out  unmeaning  sentences  by  the  slow  half- 
yard  with  the  best  of  them,  when  she  likes  ;  in  short,  she  is 
up  to  all  manner  of  mischief,  and  keeps  her  poor  mother  in 
constant  dread  of  what  she  may  do  next." 
"  Can  you  tell  where  she  may  be  found  ?  " 
"Well,  no,  not  precisely;  nobody  ever  does  know  just 
where  Pearl  is  to  be  found — the  most  unlikely  spot  you  can 
think  of  is  apt  to  be  the  one.  Nevertheless,  there  is  no 
difficulty  in  finding  her  when  you  want  her ;  she  is  the  sort 
of  person  easy  to  be  traced.  She  always  leaves  a  dozen  or 
two  of  dazed  individuals  along  her  track,  staring  after  her, 


8HILOH.  373 

open-mouthed  and  bewildered,  and  only  too  glad  to  get 
a  listener  to  all  the  strange  things  they  have  to  tell  of  her. 
But  what,  may  I  ask,  do  you  know  of  her,  or  of  Chester  ?  " 

I  hastily  turned  the  matter  over  in  my  mind,  and  de- 
cided that  it  was  necessary  to  acquaint  Mrs.  Danforth  with 
the  finding  and  the  contents  of  Captain  Hart's  letter, 
which  I  did  as  briefly  as  possible.  She  threw  up  her  hands, 
when  I  had  done,  with  an  odd,  deprecatory  gesture. 

"  So  the  little  witch  is  to  be  an  -heiress,  and  more  inde- 
pendent than  ever  !"  exclaimed  she.  "Between  you  and 
me,  a  fortune  could  scarcely  have  tumbled  into  a  more  pre- 
posterous spot.  Don't  you  think  we  should  be  justified  in 
suppressing  the  fact  of .  Pearl's  identity  with  Cyrus 
Thome's  supposed-to-be-dead  child,  and  leaving  Rick  and 
Carrie  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  property  ?  I  really  believe 
they  have  the  best  right  to  it." 

I  scarcely  heard  her.  I  was  picturing  Mrs.  Thome's 
disappointment,  and  striving  to  look  a  little  way  into  the 
dusk  of  her  children's  future. 

"  I  see  we  are  to  do  right,  though  the  heavens  fall," 
laughed  Mrs.  Danforth,  construing  my  silence  into  disap- 
proval of  her  mock-earnest  pi-oposition.  "  Well,  then,  it 
becomes  my  duty  to  inform  Pearl  of  this  odd  turn  in  her 
affairs ;  -and  you,  I  siippose,  will  do  as  much  for  Mr?. 
Thorne." 

The  suggestion  was  like  the  firm  grasp  of  a  policeman 
upon  an  escaped  convict's  shoulder.  It  was  a  positive  des- 
pair to  be  thus  forced  back  into  a  distasteful  atmosphere, 
just  as  I  was  congratulating  myself  upon  breathing  it  no 
more ;  and  into  a  new  and  inauspicious  connection  Avith  an 
affair  that  I  had  believed  to  be,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
happily  concluded.  And  Mala  did  not  scruple  to  question 
the  wisdom  of  the  providence  by  which  I  was  alternately 
made  to  appear  as  the  good  and  the  evil  genius  of  a  per- 
son with  whom  I  should  be  best  pleased  to  have  nothing 
to  do. 


374  SHILOH. 

"  Let  the  matter  alone,"  was  her  final  advice,  "  and 
leave  Mrs.  Thorne  to  be  notified  of  Pearl's  claim,  in  due 
time,  by  Pearl's  lawyer." 

But  Bona  would  not  permit  me  to  act  upon  it.  She 
averred  that  the  blow  would  fall  somewhat  less  crushingly 
upon  Mrs.  Thorne,  if  dealt  before  she  had  time  to  settle 
herself  firmly  into  the  belief  that  Rick's  claim  was  beyond 
all  question.  She  reminded  me  that  my  antipathy  to  her, 
and  my  tendency  toward  uncharitable  judgment,  in  her  re- 
gard, should  make  me  only  the  more  solicitous  to  fail  her 
in  no  ordinary  kindness ; — in  short,  she  made  her  quiet 
voice  so  persistently  heard  •through  Mala's  murmurs  and 
sarcasms,  that  I  was  forced  to  sit  down  to  Mrs.  Danforth's 
desk,  and  scribble  a  hurried  note  to  Mrs.  Thorne,  through 
the  house  of  "  Venner  &  Co.," — for  I  knew  no  other  way 
of  reaching  her.  And  I  left  it  at  the  post-office  on  my  way 
to  the  station. 

I  arrived  at  the  latter  spot  just  as  the  up-train  was 
leaving.  The  little  bustle  occasioned  by  its  departure  was 
all  over  wThen  I  came  out  of  the  express  oifice,  and  most 
of  the  arrivals  had  been  borne  off  by  the  various  vehicles 
in  waiting.  A  single  figure  was  pacing  impatiently  up  and 
down  the  platform.  As  it  turned  round,  I  found  myself 
face  to  face  with  Rick  Thorne. 

Our  greeting  was  cordial  and  unembarrassed.  In  that 
first  moment,  I  think  neither  of  us  remembered  precisely 
how  we  had  parted. 

"  I  thought  it  most  likely  that  you  had  gone  to  New 
Orleans  with  your  mother,"  said  I. 

"  To  New  Orleans  !  "  he  repeated  in  surprise.  "  Is 
mother  gone  to  New  Orleans  ?  What  on  earth  has  taken 
her  there  ?  " 

"  Then  you  did  not  see  her  before  she  went ! "  I  ex- 
claimed, amazed  that  Mrs.  Thorne  should  have  taken  the 
matter  so  completely  into  her  own  hands,  as  she  appeared 
to  have  done. 


SIIILOH. 


375 


"  No.  She  came  to  Haventon,  it  is  true,  a  clay  or  two 
ago  ;  and  I  understand  she  made  a  regular  fuss  because  I 
was  not  there,  and  they  couldn't  tell  her  where  I  had  gone. 
I— I—" 

Here  his  self-possession  quite  forsook  him,  and  a  flush 
rose  to  his  brow.  It  was  only  for  a  moment. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  mincing  matters  ?  "  he  went  on, 
with  a  quick  return  of  his  old,  easy,  engaging  frankness ; 
"  I  am  married,  Miss  Frost." 

No  doubt  I  opened  wide  eyes  of  wonder  at  him.  The 
scene  in  "  The  Bower  "  came  back  upon  me,  now,  vividly. 
I  was  provoked  at  myself  that  it  caused  a  momentary  pang. 
I  had  no  mind  to  furnish  a  confirmation,  in  my  own  person, 
of  the  sneering  assertion  that  no  woman  likes  to  see  a 
man's  affections  transferred  from  herself  to  another,  even 
though  they  may  have  given  her  pain  rather  than  pleasure  ; 
— yet  from  whence  came  that  swift  throe,  if  not  fi-om 
wounded  vanity  ?  Or,  was  its  deeper  root  in  the  sudden, 
flitting  vision  of  my  own  lonely  future  which  rose  before 
me,  as  he  spoke  ?  Yet  what  right  have  I  to  assume  that  it 
will  be  lonely  ?  God's  spirit,  working  in  and  through  my 
prayerful  efforts,  is  able  to^rowd  it  with  peace,  joy,  use- 
fulness, blessedness. 

"  Allow  me  to  be  the  first  of  your  Shiloh  friends  to  con- 
gratulate you,"  said  I  to  Rick,  quickly  recovering  myself. 
"  Is  your  aunt  expecting  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  believe  not.  The  truth  is,  my  wedding  was  a 
very  sudden  affair ;  the  fruit  of  a  hasty  impulse-,  but  a 
good  one,  I  hope.  I  met  her — that  is  to  say,  my  wife — 
only  a  month  ago,  when  I  was  in  a  wretched,  despondent, 
gloomy  state  (I  need  not  tell  you  the  reason  why),  and  she 
contrived  to  diffuse  some  sunshine  through  it,  in  such  a 
miraculous  way,  that  I  was  grateful,  of  course  ;  and  grat  i- 
tude  turns  easily  to  love,  you  know.  Then  she  was  in  un- 
comfortable leading-strings,  subject  to  the  control  of  cer- 
tain people  who  were  not  at  all  in  sympathy  with  her,  and 


376  SHILOH. 

who  were  continually  checking  her  bright,  beautiful  im- 
pulses, and  clipping  the  wings  of  her  fancy  ;  and  I  saw  her 
so  unhappy  under  it  all,  that  I  could  not  help  marrying 
her,  just  to  set  her  free.  I  supposed  mother  would  be 
rather  angry  at  first,  but  I  knew  I  could  coax  her  out  of  it. 
And  there  was  not  time  to  write  and  consult  her  about  it." 

The  frank,  easy,  kind-hearted,  inconsiderate,  infatuated 
fellow !  I  hoped  his  wife  had  brought  somewhat  more  of 
that  uncommon  commodity  known  as  common  sense  into 
the  sudden  partnership  than  he  had  done. 

"  And  now,"  he  concluded,  "  let  me  take  you  in  and 
introduce  you  to  her." 

I  ceased  to  marvel  at  Rick's  infatuation  when  a  dainty 
little  creature,  half-asleep  in  the  dingy  waiting-room,  lifted 
her  picture-like  head,  with  its  great  mass  of  golden  curls 
and  its  innocent,  wondering  blue  eyes,  and  smiled  up  into 
his  face.  But  what  a  child !  What  a  pair  of  children  ! 
What  would  become  of  them  !  Had  Providence  gracious- 
ly gifted  them  with  some  sparrow-like  instinct,  by  the  help 
of  which  to  seek  their  food  and  build  their  nest,  as  an  off- 
set to  their  scanty  stock  of  human  reason  !  And  what 
sort  of  mercy  might  this  soft?  dove  expect  at  the  angry 
talons  of  Mrs.  Thome  !  Poor,  bitter,  disappointed,  Mrs. 
Thorne  ! 

Mrs.  Rick  received  me  writh  the  air  of  a  childish  prin- 
cess, quiet,  grave,  slightly  tinged  with  shyness,  yet  without 
awkwardness  or  confusion.  She  replied  to  my  congratu- 
latory remarks  appropriately  enough,  answered  the  ques- 
tions I  addressed  to  her,  and  left  the  rest  of  the  conversa- 
tion to  Rick  and  myself. 

A  small  boy,  a  rickety  wagon,  and  a  horse  capable  of 
serving  every  purpose  of  a  skeleton  without  taking  the 
trouble  of  dying,  shortly  appeared  at  the  door,  and  termi- 
nated the  interview.  With  a  laugh  at  the  style  of  his 
equipage, — the  only  one  he  had  been  able  to  procure, — dnd 
a  seriously  expressed  fear  that  the  horse  would  be  "  off  his 


SHILOH.  377 

legs  "  before  they  could  reach  Bryer  Farm,  Rick  tossed  in 
his  trunk,  handed  in  his  bride,  took  his  small  driver  on  his 
knees,  and  set  forth  through  the  sunshine  toward  Shiloh. 

An  hour  afterward,  having  finished  my  shopping  and 
turned  my  face  homeward,  I  came  upon  them  midway  be- 
tween Clay  Corner  and  Hope  Plain,  where  the  loneliness 
of  the  road  is  not  tempered,  for  more  than  a  mile,  by  any 
dwelling.  The  horse  had  been  loosened  from  the  wagon, 
and  was  panting  under  a  tree  by  the  wayside  ;  Rick  stood 
looking  at  him  with  a  serious  face ;  his  wife  sat  in  the 
wagon,  unruffled  and  observant ;  and  the  small  boy  was 
making  much  ado  of  crying,  with  his  dirty  fists  in  his  eyes. 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked,  drawing  up  beside  the 
party. 

"  The  matter  is  that  this  miserable  beast  is  completely 
knocked  up  with  old  age,  or  starvation,  or  hard  work,  or  a 
mixture  of  the  three  ;  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  knock  him 
in  the  head  and  put  him  out  of  his  misery.  I've  a  great 
mind  to  do  it.  Be  off,  you  young  rascal,  and  tell  his  mas- 
ter to  come  and  look  after  him,  if  he's  got  a  master.  It's  a 
question  whether  he'll  have  a  horse  when  he  gets  here,  and 
may  he  never  have  another !  " 

There  was  a  short  consultation.  It  ended  in  Rick's 
placing  his  bride  in  the  empty  seat  of  my  buggy,  to  be 
conveyed  to  Bryer  Farm  ;  while  he  turned  back  on  foot  in 
search  of  a  team  to  bring  on  his  trunk  and  himself. 

My  passenger  sat  silent,  stealing  occasional  glances  at 
me  from  under  her  long  eyelashes  ;  doubtless,  she  was  em- 
barrassed by  the  novelty  of  her  position.  To  set  her  at 
ease,  by  diverting  her  thoughts  into  a  familiar  channel, 
I  inquired  what  place  she  had  been  accustomed  to  call 
home  ? 

"  Philadelphia." 

"  Ah  ?  I  have  many  acquaintances  there.  Do  you  know 
the  Maxwells  or  the  Lightfoots  ?  " 

"  No.     I  know  the  Heavyheads  very  well." 


378  SHILOH. 

I  looked  at  her  face.  It  was  perfectly  simple  and  seri- 
ous, without  a  sign  of  having  intended  a  witticism  in  it 
anywhere.  Repressing  a  smile  at  the  odd,  but,  as  it  ap- 
peared, fortuitous,  conjunction  of  names,  I  said  : 

"  Would  it  be  an  impertinence  to  ask  what  name  you 
have  exchanged  for  that  of  Thorne  ?  I  may  know  some 
branch  of  your  family." 

"  My  name  was  Dorn — Daisy  Dorn." 

"  A  dainty  name  for  a  dainty  lady,"  I  thought,  but  not 
aloud.  Truth  to  tell,  I  did  not  seem  to  "  get  on  "  with 
Rick's  wife.  The  child-like  sweetness  and  simplicity  of  her 
manner  was  slightly  iced  with  a  hauteur  that  seemed  ab- 
surdly out  of  place  there.  It  occurred  to  me,  finally,  that 
the  congelation  might  be  due  to  her  knowledge  of  Rick's 
former  sentiment  toward  me,  and  I  gave  "Racer"  a  hint 
to  trot  faster. 

Not  until  I  drove  through  the  great  gate  of  Brycr 
Farm  did  I  realize  what  an  awkward  mission  had  been  forced 
upon  me — to  bring  home  Rick's  unheralded,  unlooked-for 
bride;  and  Rick  himself — nobody  knew  where.  I  sent  an 
anxious  glance  down  the  long  vista  of  the  road,  but  he  was 
not  in  sight. 

"  Wiil  you  go  in  ?  "  I  asked,  hoping,  and,  indeed,  fully 
expecting,  that  the  small  creature  beside  me  would  beg  to 
remain  in  the  carriage  until  he  should  appear ;  but  she 
only  put  forth  her  fairy-foot,  and  alighted,  as  easily  as  a 
bird  might  have  done,  on  the  porch.  And  Miss  Bryer, 
warned  of  my  arrival  by  some  domestic  scout,  was  already 
opening  the  door,  with  the  pair  of  idiots  at  her  back.  Not 
until  she  had  ushered  us  into  the  parlor,  and  cast  several 
curious,  questioning  glances  at  my  companion,  did  I  ven- 
ture upon  an  explanation.  Taking  Mrs.  Rick's  hand  in 
mine,  in  the  belief  that  a  friendly,  sympathizing  touch 
would  be  helpful  to  her  in  her  trying  position,  I  said: 

"  Miss  Bryer,  I  bring  a  new  claimant  for  your  love. 
Rick  expected  to  have  had  the  pleasure  of  presenting  her 


SIIILOH.  379 

to  you  himself,  but  a  provoking,  though  harmless,  accident 
has  detained  him  on  the  way  hither.  He  is  quite  well,  and 
will  soon  be  here.  Meantime,  he  sends  you,  by  my  hands, 
his  wife." 

"Hands  his  wife!  hands  his  wife!"  echoed  the  half- 
wits, rapturously.  Miss  Brycr  seemed  turned  to  stone. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  suddenly  called  Dr.  Bryer's  harsh 
voice  from  the  farther  door.  And  after  a  moment  he  add- 
ed, impatiently,  "  Thunder  and  lightning  !  why  don't  you 
answer  ?  " 

Thus  adjured,  Miss  Bryer  found  tremulous  voice.  "I 
don't  know — I  believe — Miss  Frost  says  it's  Rick's  wife." 

"  Rick's  knife,"  said  the  old  man,  sharply,  "  he's  always 
losing  something.  Did  that  young  woman  find  it  ?  Oh  ! 
there's  Miss  Corse.  How  do  you  do,  madam  ?  " 

I  threw  a  compassionate  glance  at  the  bride,  whose 
home-coming  was  so  strange  and  so  forlorn.  Pier  expi'es- 
sion  confounded  me.  Its  innocent  serenity  was  undis- 
turbed :  she  stood  looking  on  as  at  a  spectacle  in  which 
she  had  no  concern.  Yet,  for  one  brief  instant,  I  seemed 
to  catch  a  swift  gleam  of  the  eyes,  a  slight  compression  of 
the  lips,  indicating  that  she  was  not  so  totally  unmoved 
as  she  appeared.  I  seemed  to  discover  that  the.  glances 
sped  sidewise  from  under  her  long  eyelashes,  were  cool, 
keen,  subtle,  comprehensive  ;  noting  every  detail  of  the 
scene,  penetrating  the  thoughts  and  analyzing  the  charac- 
ter of  every  actor  therein.  I  seemed  to  see  that  she  was 
at  once  observant,  amused,  contemptuous,  and  guarded. 

I  say,  seemed, — for,  the  next  moment,  meeting  her  clear, 
childlike  eyes  turned  full  upon  me,  I  felt  that  I  had  been 
under  a  delusion. 

"  I  am  sorry  Carrie  is  not  in,"  said  Miss  Bryer,  address- 
ing her  new  niece,  in  a  trembling  voice  and  with  evident 
effort ;  "  she  would  make  it  more  pleasant  for  you.  She 
would  not  be  so  much  overcome  by — "  The  quivering 
voice  broke  down  completely. 


380  SHILOH. 

"  Then  Carrie  did  not  go  with  her  mother,"  said  I,  think- 
ing that  the  conversation  would  flow  more  smoothly  on  the 
level  of  the  commonplace. 

* "  No :  she  is  only  gone  to  one  of  the  neighbors.     I  ex- 
pect her  in,  every  minute." 

The  information  settled  a  difficulty  for  me.  Since  meet- 
ing with  Rick  Thorne,  I  had  been  disturbed  by  a  suspicion 
that  it  was  my  duty  to  make  him  acquainted  with  the  cause 
and  object  of  Mrs.  Thome's  journey  to  New  Orleans,  and 
the  discovery  of  Cyrus  Thome's  daughter ;  and  so  save 
him  from  the  trying  alternations  of  elation  and  disappoint- 
ment which  had  befallen  his  mother.  But  it  was  not  a 
pleasant  task  to  tell  a  newly  made  bridegroom,  in  the 
presence  of  his  bride,  that  his  expectations  of  future  wealth 
were  cut  off;  neither  was  it  a  moment  to  ask  for  a  private 
interview.  The  thought  of  Carrie  made  my  way  clear  be- 
fore me :  I  determined  to  tell  her  the  facts,  and  leave  her  to 
communicate  them  to  Rick. 

It  happened  that  the  brother  and  sister  met  at  the  gate, 
and  walked  up  the  lane  together.  His  story  _was  told, 
therefore,  and  her  surprise  partly  over,  before  they  joined  us. 
Their  coming  was  a  relief  to  us  all.  Rick  was  so  easy,  gay, 
and  unembarrassed,  and  Carrie  so  unaffectedly  glad  of  a  sis- 
ter-in-law, that  the  atmosphere  grew  light  and  bright  at  once. 

Very  soon,  I  drew  Carrie  aside.  She  listened  to  my 
statement  with  a  gentle  surprise. 

"Mother  did  not  tell  me  that  she  felt  at  all  certain 
about  it,"  said  she,  simply.  "  She  only  said  that  there  was 
a  little  more  hope  of  Rick's  getting  the  property." 

I  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  hear  it.  I  trusted  that  reflec- 
tion had  made  Mrs.  Thorne  somewhat  less  sanguine,  and 
that  the  edge  of  her  disappointment  might  be  proportion- 
ably  blunted. 

Charging  Carrie  to  put  Rick  in  possession  of  the  whole 
story,  before  he  chanced  to  hear  the  first  part  of  it  only 
from  any  other  quarter,  I  took  my  leave. 


A    VISIT   TO    THE    CITY. 

|  HE  next  morning,  I  started  for  New  York,  tak- 
ing Ruth  Winnot  with  me.  Thus  it  came 
about. 

Ruth's  progress  in  music  has  more  than  justi- 
fied my  anticipations.  Exercises  and  studies 
that  were  Hills  of  Difficulty  and  Sloughs  of 
Despond  to  me,  in  the  earlier  stages  of  my  musi- 
cal pilgrimage,  she  cleared  almost  at  a  bound. 
I  was  delighted,  and  told  her  so  frankly,  even  enthusiastic- 
ally. By  and  by,  she  grew  careless.  Content  to  read  aL- 
most  by  instinct  and  to  execute  easily,  she  neglected  to 
understand  how  and  wherefore  she  did  so.  The  faint 
dawning  of  conceit  showed  itself,  not  directly  manifested 
to  me,  but  by  many  subtile  channels  of  look  and  tone.  I 
had  praised  her  too  much  and  made  her  way  too  easy. 

Then,  without  preparation  or  warning,  I  threw  her  into 
the  thick  of  musical  difficulties.  I  brought  forth  my  old, 
grand  songs  and  interminable  studies,  sang  some  of  them 
to  her,  and  gave  her  a  lesson  upon  one  or  two  others.  She 
began  in  confidence  and  ended  in  confusion.  She  blundered 
and  floundered  through  her  hours  of  practice,  and  came  to 
her  lesson  with  a  most  dissatisfied  and  anxious  face.  She 
received  plenty  of  criticism,  and  no  word  of  praise.  The 
criticism  was  repeated,  in  nearly  the  same  words,  at  every 
succeeding  lesson.  At  the  fourth  repetition,  Ruth's  head 
went  down  upon  the  piano,  and  sobs  brake  forth.  I  in- 
quired, composedly  enough,  what  was  the  matter  ? 


382  SIIILOII. 

"  I  never  can  do  that  in  the  world !  It's  of  no  use  to 
try ! "  she  sobbed  out.  "  After  all,  I  am  no  singer.  I  have 
got  to  the  end  of  my  powers ;  I  cannot  go  a  step  further. 
It  is  all  dark  to  me  !  And  yet,  only  a  little  while  ago,  the 
way  was  so  easy  and  plain  !  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,"  answered  I,  drily,  "  that  I  am  not  like 
Providence." 

She  lifted  her  head  and  looked  at  me  wTonderingly. 

"  Because  Providence,  Ruth,  rarely  gives  to  us  more 
than  just  that  moderate  and  judicious  degree  of  encour- 
agement which  serves  to  keep  us  in  the  humble  and  indus- 
trious exercise  of  our  best  powers,  knowing  that  more  would 
tend  to  pride  and  carelessness,  as  less  does  to  discourage- 
ment and  despair.  Whereas  I,  having  unwisely  begun 
by  giving  you  too  much,  was  forced  to  balance  matters  by 
giving  you  none  at  all.  Having  made  your  way  too  easy, 
at  first,  the  only  alternative  was  to  make  it  too  difficult, 
at  last,  so  as  to  teach,  you  that  it  was  necessary  to  take 
heed  to  your  steps." 

"  I  see,"  she  returned,  moiirnfully,  "  I  was  doing  in  earn- 
est what  I  once  prophesied  that  I  should  do,  in  jest, — I  was 
getting  conceited.  I  fancied  that  I  had  but  little,  if  any- 
thing, more  to  learn,  and  that  I  could  learn  it  without  effort. 
Forgive  me  ! — I  will  not  be  such  an  idiot  again  !  S£ill,"  she 
added,  sighing,  "  I  do  not  see,  now,  how  I  am  ever  to  learn 
that  exercise !  " 

"  Neither  do  I,  until  you  have  been  over  some  prepara- 
tory ground.  We  will  return  to  the  point  wrhere  your  way 
ceased  to  be  easy,  and  work  up  to  the  exercise  by  degrees. 
By  that  time,  I  suspect  that  most  of  its  difficulties  will 
have  disappeared." 

"  And  all  this  time  has  been  wasted ! "  she  exclaimed, 
dolefully. 

"  Not  so,  Ruth,  if  it  has  taught  painstaking  and  humil- 
ity to  genius.  Without  the  latter,  it  can  achieve  but  little ; 
without  the  former,  it  can  achieve  .nothing  worthily." 


SHILOH.  383 

Thenceforth,  her  progress  was  sure  as  well  as  swift. 
Every  day  seemed  to  add  something  to  the  compass  or  the 
beauty  of  her  wonderful  voice.  Its  rare  quality  and  rich 
resources  became  continually  more  apparent.  So  much  so 
that  I  had  a  fit  of  humility,  one  day,  and  doubted  if  I  were 
really  competent  to  train  and  develop  so  exquisite  an  organ. 
To  settle  the  doubt, — as  well  as  in  the  hope  of  getting 
more  light  on  the  question  of  Ruth's  future,  which  begins 
to  press  upon  me, — I  addressed  a  letter  to  my  old  teacher, 
Signer  Canto.  It  brought  me  an  answer,  highly  compli- 
mentary and  encouraging,  so  far  as  concerned  my  qualifica- 
tions for  teaching,  and  closing  as  follows,  in  the  Signer's 
customary  Italian-English :  "  When  you  can  teach  the 
Signorina  no  more,  bring  her  to  me.  If  she  be  the  prodigio 
of  genius  that  you  believe,  it  shall  please  me  much  to  help 
her  to  perfect  and  make  fruit  of  her  talent.  Voices  supe- 
riores  are  few; if  you  have  found  one,  you  have  rare  good 
fortune,  it  must  never  be  lost  to  the  world  for  want  of  cul- 
tivamento." 

I  showed  the  letter  to  Ruth.  Her  eyes  sparkled  at 
first,  then  she  grew  thoughtful.  After  a  moment,  she 
said, — "It  is  very  nice,  only — I  am  afraid  he  would  expect 
me  to  go  upon  the  stage.  I  could  never  do  that,  you 
know."  And  she  made  a  silent  gesture  toward  her  feet. 

"  For  other  reasons,  too,  I  hope,  Ruth.  The  stage  is  no 
place  for  a  Christian  woman,  such  as  I  trust  you  will  be. 
The* choir  of  the  church,  and,  perhaps,  the  platform  of  the 
concert-hall,  will  give  ample  scope  for  all  your  talent,  and 
not  take  you  on  dangerous  ground." 

She  shook  her  head.,  "  Not  the  latter, — you  forget — " 
And  she  gave  another  expressive  downward  look. 

"  No,  I  do  not  forget.  Only,  I  do  not  recognise  that  as 
an  insuperable  obstacle." 

She  gazed  long  and  earnestly  in  my  face.  Suddenly, 
she  threw  herself  down  at  my  side,  hid  her  face  on  my 
shoulder,  and  burst  out  with — 


384:  SIIILOII. 

"  Tell  me,  Miss  Frost — there  is  no  one  else  that  I  dare 
ask,  it  would  be  so  hai'd  for  my  mother  to  say  '  no '  to  me  ! — 
tell  me,  is  it  not  possible  to  have  them  straightened  ?  " 

I  was  deeply  moved ;  there  was  so  much  pent-up  suffer- 
ing and  desire  in  the  tone.  "  I  do  not  know,  indeed,  dar- 
ling. Certainly,  it  would  involve  a  fearful  amount  of 
pain." 

"  I  don't  care  for  that !  I  would  bear  anything — every- 
thing — only  to  be  made  straight.  Oh  !  how  often  I  dream 
that  I  am  so  ! — that  Christ,  passing  by,  turns  his  soft  eye 
on  me,  and  says,  '  Be  healed ! '  And  then  to  wake,  and 
find  it  only  a  dream,  and  that  I  am  crooked  still !  Ah ! 
you  don't  know  what  that  is,  Miss  Frost !  " 

The  result  of  this  conversation  was  that  Ruth  and  I 
made  a  flying  .visit  to  New  York.  First,  I  took  her  to  the 
distinguished  surgeon,  Dr.  Heartwell,  my  father's  life-long 
friend.  He  gave  her  a  rapid,  but  searching  examination. 
This  was  his  decision  : — 

"  Your  medical  adviser,  at  home,  was  right.  I  have 
reason,  every  day,  to  know  that  my  brother  practitioners 
of  the  country  are  not  so  far  behind  us  of  the  city  as  their 
patients  are  apt  to  imagine.  Although  there  is  not  a  single 
sign  or  symptom  of  disease  about  you,  and  you  may  live  as 
long,  under  favorable  conditions,  as  the  majority  of  the 
human  race,  or  even  longer  ;  yet  your  constitution  is  too 
delicate,  your  nerves  too  sensitive,  to  justify  our  undertak- 
ing the  operation.  If  done  at  all,  it  should  have  been  'done 
earlier.  Still — not  to  leave  you  to  the  gnaAving  tooth  of  a 
miserable  '  might-have-been ' — I  tell  you  frankly  that  I 
question  if  it  could  ever  have  been  done  safely." 

Then  the  kind  old  man,  the  practised  Healer,  learned  in 
medicaments  for  the  soul  as  well  as  for  the  body,  laid  a 
fatherly  hand  on  Ruth's  head.  "  After  all,  my  child,  it  is 
not  so  serious  a  matter.  You  have  yotith,  health,  beauty, 
and,  as  Winnie  tells  me,  talent.  Why  seek  for  more  ?  Few 
have  so  much.  And  all  of  us  have  some  crookedness,  of 


SHTLOH.  385 

mind,  or  soul,  or  body,  never  to  be  quite  straightened  in 
this  life  ; — perhaps  that  we  may  the  more  ardently  desii'e 
the  life  in  which  all  crooked  things  are  to  be  made  straight, 
and  all  dark  things  plain.  If  your  crookedness  is  "only  of 
the  body,  you  have  more  reason  to  rejoice  than  to  be  sor- 
rowful." 

If  Ruth  was  disappointed,  she  was  also  tranquilized. 
Hope,  suspense,  and  longing,  were  alike  at  an  end.  She 
knew  her  ground.  And  the  old  man's  reassuring  words, 
and  benignant  manner,  were  not  without  their  effect. 

Then  I  took  her  to  Signor  Canto.  He  listened  to  her. 
with  an  ecstatic  admiration  that  continually  leaped  over 
the  narrow  limits  of  his  slow  English  into  enthusiastic 
Italian.  "  Of  course,  she  had  much  to  learn,  and  he  could 
see  that  she  was  learning  it,"  with  a  low  bow  to  me, — "  but 
her  voice,  it  was  magnified,  sopra  ogni  cosa — above  every- 
thing that  he  had  imagined !  It  was  superba,  maravigli- 
osa,  wonderful." 

Then  he  said  to  me,  in  Italiap,  "  Something  must  be 
done  for  her  feet.  She  would  make  her  fortune — and  yours 
and  mine,  too — on  the  operatic  stage." 

"  It  cannot  be,  signore" 

"  It  must  be.     Take  her  to  a  surgeon." 

"  I  have  just  done  so.     He  does  not  advise  it." 

"  Take  her  to  another.  Some  one  will  be^  found  to  ad- 
vise it." 

"  And  kill  her !  I  beg  to  decline.  Besides,  neither  Miss 
"Winnot  nor  I  like  the  idea  of  the  stage." 

He  made  a  grimace.  Then  he  besieged  Ruth.  Uncon- 
sciously, the  kind-hearted,  enthusiastic  little  man  played 
the  part  of  Satan  in  the  wilderness,  and  played  it  well.  He 
held  fame,  wealth,  admiration,  power,  before  her  dazzled 
eyes.  Paradoxical  as  the  statement  may  seem,  her  crooked 
feet  enabled  her  to  stand  firm.  For  a  moment,  I  was  glad 
she  had  them.  With  her  rare,  exquisite  beauty,  and  her 
marvellous  voice,  what  temptations,  what  dangers,  what 
17 


386  SHILOH. 

downfalls  may  they  not  have  saved  her  from !  They  were 
God's  visible  protection  around  her — the  pillar  of  cloud 
that  was  shade  by  day,  and  light  by  night. 

At  last,  he  gave  up  the  vain  attempt.  "  It  is  a  thousand 
pities,"  he  said,  dolefully.  "  Such  a  career  as  you  could 
have !  Still,  we  have  the  concert,  the  oratorio,  the  Church 
service ;  we  must  make  ourselves  content.  When  will  I 
have  the  honor  to  count  you  into  my  pupils,  Miss  "Win- 
not?" 

I  remained  in  the  city  two  or  three  days,  in  order  to 
give  Ruth  a  glance  at  some  of  its  lions  ; — Uncle  John  being 
only  too  glad  to  have  us  impart  even  a  transient  home- 
aspect  to  his  great,  empty  house,  and  very  fertile  in  ex- 
pedients for  keeping  us  there.  The  business-mist  did  not 
once  envelop  him  during  our  stay.  He  was  greatly  charmed 
with  Ruth ;  and  she  was  soon  quite  as  much  at  ease  with 
him  as  his  own  children ;  for  him,  she  put  on  her  brightest 
face  and  sang  her  sweetest  songs. 

When "  she  returned  i-o  Shiloh,  it  was  plain  that  the  trip 
had  done  her  good.  The  city — accustomed  to  all  sad  and 
forlorn  eights,  and  keenly  appi'eciative  of  beauty — had 
scarcely  noticed  her  feet,  but  had  gazed  admiringly  in 
her  face.  She  had  met  many  strangers  and  not  one  rebuff. 
She  had  gained  in  confidence  and  in  spirits. 


XXXVI. 


THE    TEUTH    AT    LAST. 

N"  the   afternoon  of  the  day  of  my  return 
from  New  York,  I  met  Mrs.  Danforth  at 
the  Sewing  Society.     She  soon  took  occasion  to 
lead  me  into  a  room  apart. 

"  Well ! "  she  began,  "  I  wrote  to  Pearl, — or 
rather,  to  her  mother, — and  she  wrote  back  that 
Pearl  was  away  visiting,  and  she  had  immedi- 
ately forwarded  the  letter.     Probably  Pearl  has 
received  it,  by  this  time,  and  I  shall  soon  hear  how  she  takes 
it.     By  the  way,  I  hear  that  Rick  Thorne  is  married,  and 
that  you  had  the  honor  of  carrying  home  the  unexpected 
bride.     How  does  she  look  ?     Is  she  pretty  ?  " 
"  Very  pretty — a  perfect  little  fairy." 
"  Where  does  she  hail  from  ?  " 
"  Philadelphia." 

"  Indeed !     I  have  a  large  acquaintance  there.     What 
is — or  what  was — her  name  ?  " 
"Daisy  Dorn." 

Mrs.  Danforth  gave  me  one  look  of  unqualified  amaze- 
ment. Then,  she  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  burst 
into  a  long,  loud,  ringing  laugh, — yet  a  laugh  that  I  never 
quite  like  to  hear,  because  much  too  broad  and  noisy  for  a 
woman. 

"I  do  not  see  the  joke,"  said  I,  rather  severely. 
"  Don't  you  ?   My  good  gracious  !  it  is  too  rich  ! — Daisy 
Dorn  is  " — and  she  went  off  into  another  peal. 


388  SIIILOH. 

I  waited  in  silent  disapproval. 

"Is — is," — she  went  on,  catching  her  breath  hysterically, 
"  goodness  alive  !  she  is  Pearl  Danforth  ! " 

"  Impossible  !  "  I  exclaimed.     "  That  child ! " 

"  Child  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Danforth,  fairly  screaming  with 
mirth.  "  Bless  your  simple  soul !  she  was  of  age  two  years 
ago.  And  she  has  the  brain  of  a  Machiavelli  under  those 
yellow  curls  of  hers.  I'll  bet  on  her  against  Mrs.  Thorne, 
two  to  one." 

"  But  her  name — Daisy  Dorn." 

"  You  persistent  sceptic  !  Her  name  is  Margaret :  of 
course  she  is  entitled  to  all  its  variations.  Chester  called 
her  Pearl,  because,  as  he  said,  he  had  picked  her  up  on  the 
seashore.  She  assumes  the  others  as  the  fit  takes  her — 
Daisy,  Madge,  Greta,  and  I  don't  know  what  not.  Lately, 
too,  she  has  taken  a  fancy  to  resume  the  name  of  Dorn, — • 
the  name  her  father  bore  in  Italy,  and  the  only  one  Chester 
knew  anything  about ; — no  wonder  he  never  found  her 
friends  ! " 

"  And  it  is  the  German  for  Thorne  !  "  said  I. 

"  Exactly.  The  affair  grows  clearer  every  moment,  you 
sec." 

"  And  Rick  will  get  the  property  after  all !  " 

"  Umph  !  that's  as  Pearl  pleases  !  She  is  of  age,  you 
know.  Perhaps  he  will  get  as  much  of  it  as  is  good  for 
him  ;  he  certainly  will  not  get  any  more.  He  will  find  that 
his  wife  has  a  will  of  steel  under  her  soft,  cushiony  exte- 
rior. By  the  way,  I  wonder  what  possessed  her  to  marry 
him  !  I  always  thought  her  on  the  look-out  for  a  rich  hus- 
band,— to  be  sure,  she  can  afford  to  mai'ry  whom  she 
pleases,  now;  but  then,  she  did  not  know  it  when  she  did 
the  deed !  Can  she  really  have  fallen  in  love  with  his 
handsome  face,  and  married  him  with  her  eyes  shut  to 
everything  else,  silly-girl  fashion  ?  " 

Remembering  a  look  that  she  had  given  her  husband, 
as  he  entered  the  depot,  and  another  in  the  Bryer's  parlor, 
I  averred  that  I  thought  she  had. 


SHILOII.  389 

"  Then,"  said  Mrs.  Danforth,  "  I  should  not  wonder  if 
she  macle  him  an  excellent  wife.  She  has  brains  enough 
for  both  ;  and  artfulness  enough  to  keep  his  simple  head 
from  suspecting  half  the  crooks  and  corners  of  hers.  She 
will  manage  him  wholly,  without  his  knowing  that  she  does 
it.  She  will  seem  as  transparent  as  a  meadow-brook,  when 
she  is  as  deep  as  the  sea.  The  more  she  loves  him,  the  less 
will  she  allow  him  to  see  her  as  she  is, — that  is,  until  the 
softening  influence  of  wifehood  and  motherhood  have  made 
her  nearer  to  what  she  should  be." 

"  And  you  call  that  an  excellent  wife  !     Poor  Rick  !  " 

Mrs.  Danforth  looked  really  abashed.  "  Miss  Frost !  " 
she  exclaimed  in  a  deprecating  tone,  "  you  surely  know 
that  I  was  not  speaking  abstractly,  but  relatively,  for  the 
present  occasion.  I  do  think  that  Frederick  Thorne,  with 
his  temperament  and  characteristics,  might  have  done  much 
worse  than  to  marry  Pearl.  For,  after  all,  she  is  eccentric 
and  secretive,  rather  than  wicked.  She  is  such  a  consum- 
mate actress,  by  nature,  that  she  cannot  help  playing  a 
part ;  and,  loving  her  husband,  she  will  play  that  of  a  good 
wife  to  perfection.  Besides,  I  meant  to  imply,  in  the  con- 
cluding clause  of  my  unlucky  speech,  that  I  thought  her 
likely  to  change  very  much  for  the  better,  in  due  time. 
But,  my  dear  Miss  Frost !  pray  do  not  think  that  I  have  no 
higher  standard  of  womanhood  than  that ! — none  higher 
than  I  had  when  I  came  to  Shiloh,  three  months  ago  !  Is 
it  possible  you  do  not  see  that  I  am  trying  to  lead  a  little 
higher  life  myself,  even  though  I  do  still  talk — and  perhaps 
act — carelessly, — that  being  the  'natur  of  the  critter,'  as 
the  farmers  say  ?  " 

She  ended  "  'twixt  a  smile  and  a  tear."  My  own  eyes 
grew  dim.  I  had  seen  the  change  in  her — though  far  too 
subtile  a  thing  to  define  in  words — and  rejoiced  at  it.  I 
told  her  so,  earnestly. 

"  As  the  angels  in  heaven  do  over  a  sinner  that  repent- 
eth  !  "  said  she,  with  the  same  mixture  of  mirth  and  seri- 


390  SHILOH. 

ousness;  which,  I  have  learned,  she  uses  instinctively  as  a 
mask  to  her  deeper  feelings.  "  Perhaps  you'll  never  know, 
till  you  get  there,  how  much  you  have  had  to  do  with  it.  Sun- 
day School  teachings  sometimes  rebound  from  the  children 
and  hit  the  parents.  Seeing  Gordon  and  Effie  so  earnestly 
trotting  and  tumbling  heavenward,  under  your  guidance, 
— I  could  not  well  help  asking  myself  whither  my  own 
ways  tended.  You  may  be  sure  that  it  has  taken  some  of 
the  conceit  out  of  me,  to  find  that  what  I  did  so  unwil- 
lingly, as  a  great  favor  to  you  and  a  wonderful  condescen- 
sion to  the  Sunday  School  cause  in  Shiloh,  turns  out  to 
have  been,  humanly  speaking,  the  salvation  of  my  children 
and  myself.  To  be  sure,  I  was  a  Church  member  before, 
and  active  enough  in  Church  work,  after  my  fashion ; 
but  I  suspect  I  had  as  little  of  the  Christian  spirit  as  any 
Hottentot." 

I  was  dumb.  Never  did  I  feel  so  humbled.  It  was  so 
plain  to  me  that  it  was  not  "  I,"  weakly  and  wearily  oscil- 
lating between  Bona  and  Mala,  but  the  grace  of  God,  that 
had  done  it !  Mrs.  Danforth  had  been  very  far  from  my 
thoughts,  in  my  Sunday  School  work. 

She  wiped  her  eyes,  and  recurred  to  the  preceding  topic. 

"  I  suppose  !•  must  go  and  call  on  Pearl,"  said  she, 
"  though  she  doesn't  deserve  it.  To  think  that  the  little 
minx  should  have  gone  sti'aight  past  my  door  with  you, 
and  not  have  stopped ! — not  even  long  enough  for  that 
sorely  tried  husband  of  hers  to  come  up.  But  it  is  just 
like  her !  I  know  she  enjoyed  her  sudden,  single-handed 
descent  upon  those  startled  Bryers  a  great  deal  better  than 
any  more  commonplace  introduction.  She  fairly  luxuri- 
ated in  that  absurd  scene.  Well !  I  will  go  and  see  her 
this  evening,  and  tell  her  of  her  good  fortune,  if  such  it  is 
to  be  called." 

The  next  morning,  Mrs.  Danforth  knocked  at  the  open 
door  of  the  out-room,  where  Ruth  and  I  were  seated  at  the 
piano. 


SIIILOH.  391 

"  I  thought  I  would  just  stop  in  and  tell  you  that  I 
found  only  an  empty  nest,"  she  said,  as  we  shook  hands. 
"  The  bird  is  flown." 

"  What — who  ! — "  I  asked,  bewildered. 

"Who?  Pearl— Daisy— Mrs.  Frederick  Thorne.  I 
have  just  come  from  the  Bryers  ;  I  did  not  go  up  there 
last  night,  I  had  a  sick  headache.  Meanwhile,  Carrie  had 
made  Rick  a  statement  of  facts,  as  you  requested  her  to  do. 
He  imparted  them  to  his  wife.  The  name  of  Chester  Dan- 
forth  made  the  whole  thing  clear  to  Pearl's  very  quick 
comprehension.  Finale:  she  and  Rick  started  for  New 
Orleans  at  six  o'clock  this  morning.  Son  voyage  !  " 


XXXVII. 


THE    BUMMER'S    WOKK. 

|  HE  summer  is*  fast  gliding  by — a  summer  of 
some  pleasure,  of  more  labor,  of  multiply- 
ing interests,  of  much  that  has  left  a  rich 
residuum  of  experience  in  the  depths  of  my 
heart.  It  has  made  life's  purpose  and  signifi- 
cance clearer  to  me.  It  has  taught  me  that,  as 
our  nature  is  constituted,  and  under  its  present 
conditions,  we  are  made  more  contented,  as  well 
as  wiser,  by  a  due  admixture  of  sorrow  and  disappointment 
in  our  earthly  cup.  The  life  that  is  rightly  lived,  groAvs 
richer  by  its  losses  and  gladder  through  its  tears.  Not  only 
"knowledge,"  but  joy,  "by  suffering  entereth."  So  long 
as  we  make  earthly  happiness  an  end,  and  seek  it  directly, 
we  are  certain  to  miss  it,  and  to  be  continually  chilled  and 
soured  and  disappointed  thereby  ;  but  as  soon  as  we  make 
up  our  minds  to  do  without  it,  and  put  submission,  useful- 
ness, an  earnest  striving  after  holiness,  in  its  place,  we  are 
apt  to  find  it  quietly  waiting  upon  them,  as  their  humble 
handmaiden. 

So  much  of  truth  has  the  summer  broiight  to  me  in  its 
gliding  by.  Let  us  see  what  it  has  brought  to  others, — for 
it  lias  suffered  none  of  the  persons  left  behind  by  these 
chronicles  to  stand  quite  still. 

Alice  Prescott  took  to  the  study  of  Italian  as  a  bird  to 
the  air.  So  far,  the  poet's  dower  is  hers — she  has  the  gift 
of  tongues. 


SIIILOII.  o;);j. 

Moreover,  the  readings  long  ago  inaugurated  have  been 
quietly  educating  her  taste,  and  deepening  her  thought. 
For  her  sake,  I  have  made  frequent  selections  from  the 
poets,  and  accompanied  the  reading  thereof  with  copious 
commentary,  analysis,  and  criticism.  I  left  these  to  do 
their  silent  work.  That  they  did  it  I  knew  well,  not  only 
by  frequently  surprising  Alice  with  a  pencil  and  a  scrap 
of  paper  in  her  hands,  and  the  pleasant  trouble  of  poetic 
travail  in  her  face;  but  by  seeing  the  same  scraps  thrust 
silently  and  despondently  into  the  kitchen  fire.  It  was 
long  ere  I  put  forth  a  hand  to  save  one  of  these  frof- 
doom. 

"  I  hope  I  Jiave  your  permission  to  read  this,"  said  1; 
when  I  had  done  so. 

"  If  it  were  worth  reading,  I  would  have  brought  it  to 
you  unasked.  Do  not  mortify  me  by  looking  at  it !  " 

"  Is  it  lately  written  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  wrote  it  more  than  a  fortnight  ago." 

"  Did  it  not  seem  worth  reading  to  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Ah !  yes,— everything  does,  at  first.  But,  in  a  few 
days,  all  the  flavor,  all  the  life,  have  gone  out  of  it.  It  is 
wishy-washy,  and  sickens  me !  It  is  cold  and  dead,  and 
chills  me !  I  hasten  to  put  it  out  of  my  sight." 

"  That  is  to  say  that  the  inevitable  moment  of  doubt, 
discouragement,  and  disgust,  which  comes  to  every  worker 
for  Art,  be  it  painter,  sculptor,  or  poet,  comes  also  to  you. 
It  may  be  that  it  is  the  moment  wherein  his  late  standard, 
well-nigh  reached,  begins  to  mount  higher ;  it  may  be  the 
one  which  first  reveals  to  him  that  the  fairest,  subtlest 
graces  of  his  spiritual  ideal  are  not  to  be  embodied  in  color, 
marble,  or  rhythm.  Still,  that  moment  of  disgust  is  not 
the  time  to  judge  fairly  of  the  work  done.  Leave  the 
decision  to  me  whether  this  deserves  the  flames,  or  no." 

"  Not  that,"  she  exclaimed  hurriedly ;  "  let  ipe  bring 
you  something  I  wrote  this  merning." 

"  Which  has  not  yet  lost  its  flavor  ?     No,  thank  you. 


394:  SIIILOH. 

My  praise,  if  I  have  any  to  give,  will  seem  fearfully  cold 
to  that  birth-warai  effusion.  While  my  criticism  will  not 
hurt  this  one  nearly  so  much." 

Her  reluctance  continued,  and  seemed  so  disproportion- 
ate to  the  occasion,  that  I  was  first  puzzled,  then  half-vexed. 
Seeing  that,  she  yielded  at  once,  and  sat  with  a  downcast 
face  and  deeply-suffused  cheeks,  awaiting  the  result. 

Of  course,  I  expected  to  see  "  Lines  to — "  something, 
— summer,  autumn,  a  cat,  a  flower,  on  the  death  of  a  friend, 
or  some  one  of  the  hackneyed  themes  of  youthful  rhymers. 
What  I  actually  saw,  therefore,  astonished  me  not  a  little. 
The  verses  had  no  title,  and  they  ran  thus : 

"  I  have  locked  my  heart,  and  I  give  you  the  key. 
Throw  it,  I  pray  you,  into  the  sea, 
It's  of  no  use  to  you,  and  still  less  to  me. 

"  None  shall  come  after  you  into  that  door, — 
None  after  you,  and  you  enter  no  more ! — 
Let  the  dust  gather  on  ceiling  and  floor. 

"  Let  the  dim  ghost  of  our  dead  love  all  night 
StaHc  through  the  empty  rooms,  bare  of  delight, 
Smell  the  brown  roses  that  once  were  so  white. 

"  Let  it  count  over  'mid  silence  and  dearth, 
Hopes  that  once  laughed  in  the  glow  on  the  hearth, 
Snows  that  have  chilled  both  the  flame  and  the  mirth. 

"  Then,  when  the  dawn  o'er  the  hilltops  doth  peep, 
Back  to  its  grave  let  it  silently  creep, — 
Grave  that  the  slow  years  dig  ever  more  deep !  " 

The  cause  of  Alice's  reluctance  was  at  once  made  clear 
to  me.  For  a  moment,  I  felt  a  flush  on  my  own  cheek. 
By  means  of  that  marvelous  intuition  of  hers,  she  had  ar- 
rived at  some  conception  of  the  sort  of  chill  and  torpor  that 
had  fallen  on  my  heart,  and  given  it  voice,  in  my  stead. 
Strange  that  the  poet's  insight  can  almost  dispense  with 


SHILOH.  395 

experience  !  That  a  slender  New  England  girl,  hid  away 
in  the  quietest  corner  of  a  quiet  town,  with  no  personal 
knowledge  of  love,  and  quite  innocent  of  its  heartache, 
should  write  such  a  sombre,  hopeless,  death-scented  lyric  as 
this,  was  indeed  a  marvel ! 

I  read  it  twice  or  thrice,  partly  to  get  rid  of  my  self- 
consciousness,  partly  to  qualify  myself  for  judgment. 

"  Well,  Alice,"  I  said,  at  length,  "  you  need  not  burn 
this,  and  you  may  go  on  rhyming." 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  slow,  tremulous  joy  dawning  in 
her  blue  eyes.  Yet  the  mute  gaze  seemed  to  ask  for  some- 
thing more.  To  gratify  it,  I  went  on : — 

"  Your  verses  are  better  than  I  expected.  They  are 
simple  and  unpretending,  and,  therefore,  do  not  greatly 
challenge  criticism.  I  .am  glad  to  observe  that  you  avoid 
false  rhymes  and  mixed  metaphors,  and  that  a  distinct  line 
of  thought  is  traceable  throughout.  This  is  something — 
much,  in  so  young  a  poet." 

Her  face  grew  radiant,  but  her  questioning  look  did  not 
change.  What  an  unerring  instinct  the  girl  has  ! 

"  If  you  really  crave  a  little  criticism,"  said  I,  smiling, 
"  here  it  is !  The  last  line  is  not  quite  smooth." 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  know  it,"  she  replied.  "  But  how  else  am 
I  to  get  both  the  thought  and  the  rhyme  ?  " 

"  There,  I  suspect,  is  the  poet's  woi-st  difficulty,"  said 
I.  "  To  make  sense  and  rhyme  perfectly  harmonious,  so 
that  neither  warps  nor  constrains  the  other ;  to  manage 
both  so  artfully  as  to  make  it  appear  that  the  thought  could 
in  no  otherwise  be  so  well  and  adequately  expressed ; — that 
must  give  him  his  hardest  labor.  But  I  should  really  like 
to  know  what  is  the  poet's  process,  Alice." 

"  I  do  not  know  if  I  can  tell  you,"  she  answered,  slowly. 
"  With  me,  it  seems  like  a  remembering  rather  than  a  mak- 
ing. My  verses  come  to  me  precisely  as  you  recall  a  half- 
forgotten  poem  or  song.  Whole  lines  and  stanzas  start  up 
in  my  mind,  without  the  least  effort ;  but  here  and  there 


396  SHILOH. 

are  gaps  which  it  is  hard  to  fill.  In  vain  I  try  to  remember 
what  belongs  in  them;  the  missing  line  or  phrase  hovers 
about  the  outer  edge  of  my  mind,  but  cannot  be  coaxed 
within  it.  It  is  only  after  long  trial  that  I  can  fill  up  these 
gaps,  at  all ;  and  the  interpolation  always  has  the  air  of  a 
patch  over  a  hole  in  a  garment, — at  least,  to  me." 

She  then  brought  mo  her  morning's  production.  It 
proved  to  be  better  than  this,  after  all, — more  original,  and 
with  a  stronger,  sweeter  flow.  It  is  too  long  to  copy,  .but 

it  can  be  found  in  the  August  NO.  of  the Magazine. 

For,  after  Alice  had  copied  it  in  her  best  hand  (and  it  is  not 
the  least  of  her  literary  qualifications  that  she  writes  one 
which  it  is  a  pleasure  and  not  a  penance  to  read),  I  sent  it 
to  the  editor  thereof, — whom  I  happen  to  know  slightly, — 
bespeaking  for  it  a  more  prompt  apd  careful  examination 
than  is  usually  vouchsafed  to  the  production  of  an  un- 
known author.  Two  or  three  days  brought  back  a  letter, 
saying  that  he  would  be  "  happy  to  hear  from  her  again ; " 
and  enclosing  a  sum  which  filled  Alice  with  shy,  crimson 
•  delight,  and  made  Mrs.  Prescott  hold  up  her  head  as  high 
as  if  she  had  received  the  first  instalment  of  an  ample  and 
certain  fortune. 

But  Alice's  literary  path  was  not  always  to  run  thus 
smooth.  Her  second  venture  was  "  declined,  with  thanks ;  " 
it  was  "too  grave  for  our  columns,"  (which  means  simply 
that  it  was  devotional), — would  she  "  try  again  ?  "  She  did 
try  again,  and  her  article  was  accepted;  but  not  without  a 
warning  that  it  was  below  the  mark  of  the  first  one,  duly 
emphasized  by  a  much  smaller  enclosure.  Her  rejected 
"Hymn" — which  was  really  the  best  of  the  three — finally 
found  a  place  in  the  columns  of  a  religious  weekly  ;  at  a  rate 
of  compensation  so  low  as  to  leave  no  question  whatever 
about  the  comparative  values  of  religion  and  non-religion 
in  the  literary  market ;  nor  any  shred  of  doubt  in  which 
branch  of  the  trade  a  neophyte's  talent  would  be  best  re- 
warded— that  is,  so  far  as  earthly  remuneration  is  concerned. 


SIIILOII.  397 

And  this  brings  Alice's  intellectual  history  up  to  the 
present  point.  As  for  her  emotional  one,  that  lies,  for  the 
most  part,  beyond  my  ken.  Not  that  she  is  deliberately 
secretive ;  but  she  is  naturally  reserved  and  likes  little  to 
talk  about  herself; — easier  for  a  deep,  shadowy,  enclosed 
well  to  turn  itself  into  a  running  and  sparkling  brook  than 
for  Alice  to  assume  the  openness  and  communicativeness  of 
Ruth.  Her  natural  channel  of  expression  is  her  pen ;  that 
suffices  her  for  interpreter  and  confidant. 

Of  course,  this  summer  of  constant  association  has  knit- 
ted Alice,  Ruth,  and  myself  very  closely  together.  Any 
picture  of  me,  at  this  epoch,  would  be  incomplete  without 
one  or  both  of  them  at  hand,  looking  up  to  me  with  an 
affection  that  is  half  worship.  I  get  even  a  little  .too  much 
of  their  society,  and  am  often  oppressed  by  their  reveren- 
tial regard.  It  may  be  morally  good  for  one,  but  it  is  none 
the  less  wearisome  to  fallen  human  nature,  to  be  compelled 
to  live  always  £t  the  height  of  some  loving,  worshipping 
friend's  ideal.  Often  I  feel  an  insane  impulse  to  do  some- 
thing unredeemably  weak  or  wicked,  just  to  cast  my  image 
down  from  that  uncomfortable  and  insecure  elevation,  and 
give  it  leave  to  stand,  henceforth,  upon  the  lower  earth, 
among  its  kind.  I  am  withheld  therefrom  by  no  selfish 
considerations  of  loss  of  power  or  prestige,  but  by  an  intu- 
itive knowledge  that  both  these  simple,  loving  souls  would 
seem  to  see,  in  its  downfall,  the  entire  universe  tumbling 
backward  into  chaos.  In  life's  earlier  years,  as  I  have  sore 
reason  to  know,  it  is  a  serious  matter  to  lose  one's  ideals. 
With  them  the  fair  structure  of  faith  crumbles  to  dust. 
The  whole  moral  world  falls,  seemingly,  into  irretrievable 
ruin.  Its  foundations  heave  and  gape  beneath  our  feet;  its 
sky  crashes  down  upon  our  heads,  writh  fearful  and  start- 
ling effect.  All  that  was  worthy  of  reverence  has  hopelessly 
gone  to  rack,  we  think,  as  we  struggle  forth  from  the  ruins, 
stunned  and  bewildered.  It  may  be  years  before  we  find 
out  the  scarcely  less  bitter,  if  more  wholesome,  certainty 


398  SHILOH. 

that  it  was  only  an  unfounded,  illusory  fabric  of  our  own 
creation  which  fell,  and  that  the  fair  temple  of  Truth,  with 
its  immutable  foundations  in  Goodness  and  Right,  was  in 
nowise  involved  in  the  crash. 

To  be  sure  that  crash  must  come  to  Ruth  and  Alice, 
sooner  or  later,  but  woe  to  him  by  whom  it  cometh !  To 
escape  which  malediction,  I  go  on  teaching,  moralizing,  sug- 
gesting, encouraging,  according  to  the  established  routine, 
and  striving  to  keep  my  interests  and  sympathies  unflag- 
gingly  up  to  their  work,  in  spite  of  the  inevitable  loss  of 
their  first  fresh  impetus,  till  I  can  recover  it  by  a  temporary 
withdrawal  and  rest, — things  indispensable,  it  would  seem, 
to  the  health  of  any  friendship,  however  sweet  and  cordial, 
wherein  the  sum  of  help,  sympathy,  and  rest  received  does 
not  very  closely  approximate  to  the  amount  rendered.  In 
this  effort  Mala,  as  may  be  expected,  gives  me  little  assist- 
ance. Not  even  under  the  guise  of  pride  or  self-respect  is 
she  capable  of  lending  a  steady,  lasting  aid  to  any  good 
and  unselfish  work.  But  Bona,  though  often  sore  grieved, 
and,  doubtless,  tempted  to  withdraw  and  leave  me  to 
the  unhelped  and  unhindered  tendencies  of  my  nature,  doth 
yet  stand  by  me,  and  enable  me  to  struggle  on,  if  not  to 
the  unmixed  approval  of  my  conscience,  at  least  to  the 
apparent  satisfaction  of  my  duo  of  satellites. 

Perhaps  I  ought  to  say  trio,  since  the  summer  did  what 
it  could  to  bring  Carrie  Thorne  into  the  same  category. 
Still,  no  part  of  the  foregoing  paragraph  applies  to  her. 
The  distance  between  the  Divine  and  Bryer  farms  saved 
me  from  her  too  close  attendance,  and  she  is  of  too  gentle, 
humble,  and  self-forgetting  a  nature  ever  to  be  felt  as  a 
restraint  or  a  burden.  She  is  content  to  adore  her  idols 
afar  off,  and  accepts  from  them  much  or  little  with  the  same 
sweet  thankfulness.  Whereas  Ruth  can  be  both  jealous 
and  exacting,  upon  occasion,  I  find,  or  even  without  it ;  and 
Alice,  though  she  is  neither  of  these,  has  such  an  insatiate 
hunger  for  thought,  feeling,  emotion,  knowledge,  and  all 


SIIILOH.  399 

sorts  of  mental  pabulum — things  by  which  her  genius  is  to 
live  and  grow,  in  truth  a  vital  necessity  of  its  existence — 
that  she  becomes  in  constant  association  (not  to  use  the 
simile  harshly,  and  divesting  it  of  every  heartless  and  repul- 
sive idea),  a*  kind  of  human  leech.  The  one  wearies  by 
excessive  stimulation,  the  other  by  continual  absorption. 
Carrie  presented  the  reposeful  side  of  the  picture.  She 
neither  excited  nor  drained.  She  simply  soothed. 

But  the  summer  did  something  better  for  Carfic 
Thorn e  than  to  give  her  an  assured  place  in  my  interests 
and  affections.  It  brought  her  into  closer  contact  with  the 
life  that  beats  around  her,  and  so  warmed  her  own  into 
expansion  and  usefulness.  She  became  an  efficient  teacher 
in  the  Sunday  School, — quiet,  painstaking,  and  obedient, — 
and  she  was  one  of  the  most  regular  attendants  and  faith- 
ful workers  of  the  Sewing  Society. 

I  say,  was,  because  these  last  summer  days  have  swept 
Carrie  away  from  me,  into  an  atmosphere  of  trouble  and 
anxiety.  Poor  Mrs.  Thorne  was  stricken  with  paralysis, 
on  the  receipt  of  Rick's  sudden  announcement  of  his  hasty 
marriage.  Following  close  upon  my  notice  of  the  discovery 
of  Cyrus  Thome's  missing  child,  it  seemed  the  deathblow 
to  all  her  schemes,  hopes,  and  ambitions.  Rick's  arrival, 
and  the  discovery  that  the  bride  and  the  heiress  were 
one  and  the  same,  could  not  undo  the  bodily  mischief, 
though  they  may  have  brought  some  comfort  to  her  mind. 
Carrie  was  immediately  sent  for.  A  letter  just  received 
from  her,  reports  Mrs.  Thorne  in  a  very  dangerous  situa- 
tion. 

There  have  been  no  new  developments  with  regard  to 
the  artist.  Though  we  meet  often,  and  upon  terms  which 
time  and  a  better  knowledge  of  each  other  render  more  and 
more  friendly,  it  is  always  in  the  presence  of  others,  and 
the  subject  of  his  incognito  has  never  again  been  broached. 

He  has  nearly  finished  my  picture  of  Ruth.  The  like- 
ness is  perfect ;  yet  he  has  not  failed  to  add,  or  take  away, 


400  MHLOII. 

that  indefinable,  inestimable  something  which  makes  all  the 
difference  between  a  mere  portrait  and  a  work  of  art. 

The  "  Dream  ;  Reverie ;  Reflection,"  is  also  in  progress. 
At  my  earnest  solicitation,  the  artist  has  substituted  Alice's 
face  therein  for  mine  ;  as  furnishing  a  stronger  contrast  to 
Ruth's,  and  more  perfectly  embodying  the  idea — reverie 
being  Alice's  normal  expression.  Both  she  and  Ruth  give 
him  a  sitting,  when  desired ;  yet  I  cannot  report  satisfac- 
tory progress  in  the  little  romance  heretofore  hinted  at. 
His  artist-eye  lights  np  at  sight  of  Ruth's  face  ;  yet  his 
enjoyment  of  Alice's  silent,  intuitive  sympathy  with  all  his 
thoughts  and  moods  is  scarcely  less  evident.  Certainly,  he 
is  beguiled,  by  its  subtile  charm,  to  talk  to  her  more  freely 
than  to  any  one  else  of  whatever  he  has  done  in  the  world, 
or  dreams  of  doing.  Nevertheless,  he  may  forget  her  even 
while  he  talks  to  her  most  unreservedly,  being  moved  solely 
by  the  natural  impulse  of  thought  to  flow  into  the  first 
sympathetic  ear  that  comes  in  its  way. 

Yet  the  themes  which  chiefly  engage  his  mind  and  con- 
versation,— the  history,  scope,  and  mission  of  Art, — the  suc- 
cesses, discouragements,  and  self-consecration  of  her  work- 
ers,— these,  and  kindred  topics,  discussed  in  a  lofty,  gener- 
ous spirit,  and  with  a  rare  flow  of  language  and  imagery, 
are  not  without  a  noticeable  effect  in  quickening  and 
Enlarging  the  minds  both  of  Alice  and  Ruth.  With  every 
visit  to  the  studio,  their  faces  are  informed  with  a  deeper 
thought ;  the  girlishness  is  fast  departing  thence,  and  some 
new  charm  of  womanhood  blossoms  there  daily. 

As  for  Essie  Volger,  though  Shiloh  would  seem  to  lose 
half  its  sunshine  without  her,  and  parish-work  would 
greatly  miss  her  helping  hand,  yet  any  detailed  record  of 
her  fresh,  active,  joyous  life,  free  and  bright  as  a  meadow- 
brook,  and  as  innocent  of  care  and  turmoil,  would  but  serve 
to  illustrate  the  French  proverb,  "  Heureux  le  peuple  dont 
rhistoire  ennuie" 


XXXVIII. 


IK    ST.    JTJDE'S. 

St.  Jude's  the  summer  has  wrought  some 
greatly  needed  improvements.  The  fund 
for  repairs  prospered  to  such  a  degree,  under 
Mrs.  Prescott's  fostering  care,  that  a  self-consti- 
tuted committee,  composed  of  that  active  lady, 
Mrs.  Taylor,  Mrs.  Danforth,  Essie  Volger,  and 
your  indefatigable  reporter, — aided  and  abetted 
by  the  artist,  whose  surplus  fancy  and  energy 
like  to  bubble  over  in  gratuitous  church  architecture  and 
decoration, — ventured  to  turn  a  half-dozen  carpenters  and 
painters  into  the  sacred  edifice,  and  to  set  them  at  work 
there.  It  was  irregular,  we  knew; — but  then,  Church 
work  had  to  "be  done  irregularly  in  Shiloh  !  To  call  a 
parish  meeting,  and  pass  a  vote,  was  to  quash  every  for- 
ward proceeding.  Fortunately  the  opposition  wouH  be  as 
irregular  as  the  advance.  It  would  never  organize,  and 
therefore  would  be  ineffective,  save  in  producing  uncom- 
fortableness.  - 

The  aspiring  gallery,  which  actually  seemed  to.  climb 
higher  every  time  I  mounted  it,  was  first  brought  low. 
ISTot  alone  to  the  confusion  and  wrath  of  the  wasps  that  had 
tenanted  it  undisturbed  all  the  week,  and  waged  fierce  war 
upon'  intruders  on  Sundays ;  nor  of  the  urchins  that  had 
whispered  and  tittered  and  contorted  in  its  recondite  nooks 
during  service,  wholly  out  of  eye-shot  either  of  minister  or 
congregation  ;  but  to  the  dire  dismay  of  all  .the  representa- 


402  SHILOH. 

tive  stagnancy  and  ossification  of  the  parish.  Major  Bur- 
cham  came  to  inspect  the  work,  one  day ;  and  I  heard  him 
saying  to  Mr.  Taylor,  in  his  most  pompous  and  overbearing 
tones, — 

"  You  little  sus — imagine  what  you  are  doing,  sir  !  The 
gallery  is  the  main  support  of  the  church,  sir,  the  main  sup- 
port of  the  church.  It  keeps  the  walls  in  place,  and  when 
it  is  taken  away  they  will  turn — collapse,  sir,  and  leave 
nothing  but  a  heap  of  ruins — a  heap  of  ruins !  I  wash  my 
hands  of  the  whole  business,  sir,  of  the  whole  business  !  " 

Which  supererogatory  ablution  the  Major  immediately 
performed,  by  rubbing  his  large  hands  together,  sprinkling 
the  air  with  imaginary  water,  and  turning  his  broad,  impos- 
ing back,  typical  of  universal  disapprobation,  upon  us  and 
our  proceedings.  Whereat  Mr.  Taylor  looked  a  little 
scared ;  but  the  feminine  wing  remained  undaunted ;  and 
the  artist,  emerging  from  the  shadowy  corner  where  he  had 
listened  to  Major  Burcham's  comments  with  what  struck 
me  as  a  very  odd  and  inexplicable  expression  of  counte- 
nance, laughed  and  poohed  and  insisted ;  so  the  work  went 
on.  The  huge  heap  of  gallery  timber  was  quickly  trans- 
formed into  a  small  organ  loft,  at  a  moderate  elevation, 
with  not  an  inch  of  lounging  or  play-room  in  it ;  also  a 
vestry  at  the  rear  of  the  chancel,  to  supersede  a  narrow 
cuddy  in  the  vestibule,  wherein  Mr.  Taylor  had  hitherto 
groaned  himself  into  his  surplice,  and  then  walked,  in  state, 
up  the  aisle  to  the  desk.  Finally,  two  of  the  obnoxious  win- 
dows were  suppressed,  the  others  were  darkened  with 
blinds, .  the  chancel  was  refurnished,  the  artist  gave  an 
effective  touch  here  and  there,  and  St.  Jude's  was  success- 
fully remodelled.  Its  walls,  in  spite  of  the  loss  of  their 
"  main  support,"  preserved  their  equilibrium,  and  the  ob- 
jectors recovered  theirs. 

However,  by  the  inevitable  fatality  attending  all  such 
work,  the  repairs  outran  the  fund.  Hereupon,  Mrs.  Dan- 
forth's  fair  came  magnanimously  to  the  rescue.  It  was 


sniLoir.  403 

held  in  Mrs.  Divine's  house, — not  that  it  was  more  roomy, 
central,  or  adaptable,  than  many,  of  its  neighbors,  but  be- 
cause its  mistress's  heart  was  larger,  warmer,  and  less  easily 
irritated  by  domestic  turmoil  and  upset,  than  any  similar 
organ  within  a  radius  of  many  miles.  It  was  good  to  see 
how  cordially  she  entered  into  it,  how  readily  she  sacrificed 
domestic  routine  and  comfort  to  it,  how  she  aided,  satirized, 
and  enjoyed  it. 

Being  an  exotic,  it  required  all  Mrs.  Danforth's  tact, 
fluency,  and  skill,  to  save  it  from  languishing  in  Shiloh's 
ungcnial  air.  To  use  her  own  felicitous  phrase,  she  "gal- 
vanized the  thing  through,"  forcing  a  kind  of  spasmodic 
life  from  the  very  joints  and  muscles  of  death.  The  re- 
freshment tables  were  tolerably  well  patronized, — an  appe- 
tite being  the  one  thing  to  be  counted  upon  with  certainty 
in  all  gatherings.  But  the  native  population  "  fought  shy" 
of  the  fancy-work  table — stocked  with  all  sorts  of  frail  and 
fanciful  money-traps  (under  other  names!),  knitted  or  cro- 
cheted by  Mrs.  Danforth,  or  donated  by  her  idly-busy  city 
friends.  Great,  brown  farmers  touched  them  with  the  tips 
of  their  horny  fingers  as  if  they  suspected  them  to  be  dan- 
gerous combinations  of  the  brittleness  of  glass  with  the 
flimsiness  of  cobweb,  asked  what  they  were  for,  bestowed 
upon  them  a  certain  amount  of  half-bewildered,  half-con- 
temptuous admiration,  and  went  their  way  without  open- 
ing their  purses. 

But  for  the  timely  presence  of  a  waif  from  the  city,  who 
bought  whatever  he  was  requested  to  buy  without  looking 
at  it ;  and  a  small  army  of  Essie  Volger's  admirers,  anxious 
to  impress  her  with  their  generosity ;  these  elegant  nothings 
would  have  been  left  upon  our  hands.  The  quilts,  how- 
ever, sold  readily  enough,  by  "  chances,"  as  the  softening 
phrase  goes.  Taken  as  a  whole,  the  fair  was  a  success, — 
but  a  success  resembling  certain  victories  in  the  battle-field, 
which  not  even  the  conquering  general  himself  would  care 
to  repeat. 


404  SHILOH. 

The  summer  has  done  much  for  the  Sunday  School ;  it 
is  now  in  a  most  flourishing  condition.  Though  it 'has  a 
duly  appointed  superintendent,  Mr.  Taylor  never  fails  to 
give  it  the  strength  and  inspiration  of  his  pi'esence ;  and 
makes  it  a  point  to  shake  the  hand  of  every  teacher  and 
scholar,  at  each  session,  with,  at  least,  a  cordial  "  How  do 
you  do  ?  "  When  the  lessons  in  class  are  over,  he  devotes 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  catechising  the  scholai-s,  in  person ; 
a  time  to  which  they  look  forward  with  real  pleasure.  For 
he  has  the  rare  faculty  of  talking  to  children  in  a  manner 
that  is  at  once  simple,  entertaining,  and  instructive ;  neither 
wrecking  himself*  upon  the  Scylla  of  silliness  nor  the 
Charybdis  of  obscurity. 

As  for  my  own  class,  in  which  you  take  so  kind  an  in- 
terest, it  has  bettered  my  anticipations.  Being  a  work  in 
an  untried  field,  and  undertaken  very  much  on  my  own 
responsibility,  my  pride — as  well  as  better  feelings — was 
deeply  concerned  in  its  success ;  and  I  spared  no  pains  in 
its  behoof.  I  prepared  myself  for  the  recitations  with  the 
utmost  care  ;  looking  out  or  inventing  stories,  and  hunting 
up  pictures  and  curiosities — whatever  could  be  made  to 
serve  the  purposes  of  illustration.  An  old  herbarium,  con- 
taining dried  specimens  of  fig-leaves,  palms,'  pomegranate, 
and  other  plants  mentioned  in  the  Bible,  helped  me  out ;  so 
did  the  artist's  collection  of  antiquities  and  portfolios  of 
sketches.  I  took  care  never  to  be  without  something  of 
the  sort,  to  awaken  and  interest  the  childrens'  minds,  and 
give  shape  and  point  to  their  very  vague  ideas  of  Bible  ac- 
cessories (to  borrow  a  term  from  the  language  of  Art). 
Also,  I  made  it  a  rule  to  visit,  at  the  earliest  moment  pos- 
sible, every  child  that  was  not  in  its  place,  on  Sunday ;  and 
the  mother's  certainty  that  every  such  absence  would  be 
followed  by  my  appearance  beside  her  wash-tubs,  on  Mon- 
day morning,  may  have  had  its  share  in  bringing  about  a 
gratifying  regularity  of  attendance.  The  class  now  num- 
bers thirteen ;  it  has  greatly  improved  in  appearance  and 


SIIILOII.  4:05 

behavior  ;  clean  faces  and  clean  garments,  quietude,  and 
good  lessons,  are  no  longer  the  exception,  but  the  rule. 
Yet  its  best  fruits  appear  in  the  fact  that  some  few 
of  its  members  are  really  setting  their  young  faces  heaven? 
ward ;  though  not,  of  course,  without  much  blundering 
and  tripping  by  the  way  ;  the  truest  evidence  of  their  sin- 
cerity being  that  they  pick  themselves  up  after  every  fall, 
and,  while  yet  sore  and  smarting,  set  forth  again.  Libby, 
sweet  and  patient  by  nature,  and  early  trained  by  circum- 
stance to  a  sense  of  duty  and  responsibility,  is  most  for- 
ward of  them  all ;  I  am  sometimes  oppressed  by  a  vague 
fear  of  I  know  not  what,  when  I  observe  how  very  near  to 
the  kingdom  she  is.  Next  to  her — so  far  as  is  patent  to 
human  vision,  for  I  do  not  count  my  judgment  infallible, 
in  this  matter — comes  Gordon  Danforth.  That  boy  has  in 
him  the  making  of  another  Bayard  !  His  manner  toward  his 
smaller,  weaker,  poorer  classmates,  is  redolent  of  the  pur- 
est essence  of  chivalry. 

But  the  class  has  also  borne  good  fruit,  in  an  indirect 
way.  Very  soon  after  its  commencement,  such  members  of 
the  congregation  as  ai-e  wont  to  spend  the  short  intermis- 
sion between  morning  and  afternoon  service  at  the  church, 
began  to  gather  in  its  neighborhood,  listening  attentively 
to  its  recitations,  and  begging  a  reversionary  look  at  the 
pictures,  maps,  etc.,  used  in  illustration  of  the  lesson. 
Doubtless,  some  of  them  read  their  Bibles  more  understand- 
ingly  thereafter.  Certainly,  the  audience  increased  even 
faster  than  the  class.  One  day,  I  was  surprised  to  discover 
Mrs.  Danforth's  diamonds  flashing  in  the  midst  of  it. 

"  Gordon  and  Effie  make  such  a  -fuss  about  you  and 
your  teaching,"  whispered  she,  "  that  I  am  devoured  with 
curiosity  to  see  what  it  all  means.  You  have  fairly  be- 
witched them,  and  I  would  like  to  make  sure  that  you  use 
no  unlawful  magic." 

When  the  recitation  was  over,  she  came  to  me  with  a 
piquant  air,  but  an  unusually  thoughtful  face. 


406  SHILOH. 

"  Well !  I  must  say  I  never  saw  you  lay  yourself  out 
for  anybody  as  you  do  for  those  children  !  No  wonder 
they  are  fascinated  !  But  do  you  really  like  it  ?  Does  it 
pay?" 

"  I  do  like  it,  Mrs.  Danforth, — better,  I  think,  than  any 
work  that  I  do.  And  if  any  of  them  are  made  better  and 
wiser  for  this  life,  even, — to  say  nothing  of  the  future  one, 
— does  it  not  '  pay  '  well  ?  Think  of  the  amount  of  moral 
usury  to  be  gained,  by  my  small  principal,  from  the  hearts 
and  lives  of  thirteen  children  ;  some  of  whom  are  certain 
to  become  centres  of  influence  to  families,  neighborhoods, 
friends  !  " 

She  looked  down  thoughtfully.  "  Miss  Frost,"  she  ex- 
claimed, suddenly,  "  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  cut  your 
acquaintance  !  " 

"  Indeed  !     May  I  ask  wherefore  ?  " 

"  Because  I  never  meet  you  without  being  made  to  feel 
— I  do  not  say  it  is  your  fault — that  I  am  not,  and  never 
have  been,  of  much  use  in  the  world.  And  I  shall  be 
driven  either  to  renounce-  you  or — run  in  opposition  !  Good 
bye ! " 

Two  days  after,  she  stopped  me  in  the  road.  "  Have 
you  ever  been  ragamuffin-picking  down  in  m^  district  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Not  yet," — I  began,  after  a  moment's  consideration 
had  shown  me  the  drift  of  the  inquiry. 

"  Not  yet !  "  she  interrupted, — "  then,  don't  you  dare  to 
do  it !  .1  will  not  stand  any  trespassing  on  my  gi'ound  !  " 

And,  shaking  her  finger  at  me,  with  a  humorous  de- 
fiance, she  went  her.  way. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  such  persons  as  happened  to 
be  standing  in  or  about  the  porch  of  St.  Jude's — to  wit, 
the  majority  of  the  males  and  a  considerable  number  of 
the  females  of  the  congregation — saw  an  amazing  sight. 
Mrs.  Danforth's  carriage  drew  up  to  the  door,  packed  to 
bursting  with  small,  tanned,  freckled,  oddly-clothed,  and 


SHILOH.  407 

restless  figures ;  and  not  far  in  the  rear  appeared  its  owner, 
on  foot,  leading  her  two  children  by  the  hand.  Her  eyes 
sparkled  even  brighter  than  her  diamonds,  as  we  encount- 
ered each  other  at  the  corner. 

"  You  see  that  I've  decided  on  running  an  opposition  !  " 
said  she,  laughing.  "  Look  out  for  your  laurels,  my 
dear!" 

"  They  certainly  are  in  danger,"  I  answered,  "  if  you  in- 
tend to  make  a  practice  of  sending  a  carriage  after  your 
scholars.  But,  Mrs.  Danforth,  you  surely  do  not  intend  to 
walk  home  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  told  them  fair  play  was  a  jewel,  and  we  would 
each  ride  one  way.  To  make  sure  of  them,  I  gave  them 
the  first  chance.  Aren't  they  a  nice-looking  set,  though  ? 
I  expect  to  have  a  gorgeous  time  with  them ! " 

She  stowed  them  into  her  seat,  and  managed  to  keep 
them  tolerably  still  during  service ;  then,  she  took  them 
into  a  vacant  corner  and  there  began  the  work  of  teaching 
them.  Her  success  has  been  quite  equal  to  mine ;  and  she 
has  even  more  adult  listeners.  She  is  none-  the  less  indus- 
trious in  hunting  up  illustrative  matter ;  while  she  has 
greatly  the  advantage  of  me  in  vivacity  of  manner  and  ex- 
pression ;  and  especially  in  her  wonderful  spontaneity  and 
fitness  of  gesture,  by  the  help  of  which  she  tells  a  story  or 
describes  a  scene  in  such  manner  as  to  seem  to  set  its 
actors  and  images  bodily  before  the  listenei*'s  eyes. 

The  Sewing  Society  has  made  its  payments  to  the  rec- 
tor's salary  promptly, — far  more  so,  I  regret  to  say,  than 
the  pewholders, — and  its  later  meetings  have  been  charac- 
terized by  unusual  harmony  and  energy. 

Yet,  notwithstanding  so  much  good  work  done, — done, 
I  realize  more  fully  now  that  I  see  it  on  paper,  than  when 
under  the  influence  of  the  delays,  vexations,  and  discour- 
agements attending  it, — Mr.  Taylor  has  been  much  de- 
pressed of  late.  He  began  his  work  in  Shiloh  with  a 
generous  enthusiasm  that  gave  a  kind  of  personal  warmth 


408  siiiLon. 

to  everything  he  said  and  did.  He  continued  it  with  an  en- 
ergy, indefatigability  and  engrossment,  worthy  of  all  praise. 
But  the  era  of  enthusiastic  impulse  and  impetus  is  soon  over  j. 
and  when  that  of  patient,  plodding  labor,  looking  rather  to 
the  Master's  smile  at  the  end  than  the  day's  gain,  was  be- 
gun, he  found  it,  doubtless,  comparatively  slow,  wearisome 
and  disappointing.  Likely  enough  the  inevitable  discrep- 
ancy between  the  amount  of  time  and  strength  lavished 
and  the  immediate  results,  forced  itself  upon  him,  and  sad- 
dened him.  He  came  to  me  one  morning  with  a  face  and 
voice  full  of  the  flaccidity  of  discouragement.  He  spoke 
drearily  of  indifference  that  had  chilled,  calumny  that  had 
stung,  opposition  that  had  bruised  him ;  finally,  he  uttered 
the  sombre  suspicion  that  he  had  mistaken  his  calling. 

"  See  how  little  I  have  accomplished  !  "  he  went  on,  bit- 
terly. "  The  bishop  comes  soon  for  confirmation,  and  I 
know  not  that  I  have  .three  candidates  to  present  to  him. 
And  yet,  when  I  began  my  ministerial  work,  I  thought 
that  nothing  could  long  resist  such  zeal,  faith  and  love,  as 
I  brought  to  it.  I  fancied  that  the  world  was  getting  sick 
and  tired  of  the  old,  broad,  bad  way,  and  only  waited  for 
my  hand  to  lead  it  into  the  narrow,  new  one.  I  believed 
that  I  saw  the  harbingers  of  a  new  and  triumphant  era  for 
the  Church,  in  the  sky ;  and  that  I  should  live  to  see  it 
begun  gloriously,  and  to  feel  that  I  had  done  what  I  could 
to  help  it  along." 

"  As  to  your  personal  work,"  said  I,  "  may  you  never 
have  better  cause  to  decry  it !  As  to  the  main  point  of  the 
Church's  ultimate  triumph  over  the  world,  may  we  never 
live  to  doubt  it !  You  were  chiefly  mistaken,  I  apprehend, 
in  thinking  that  in  this  age,  more  than  another,  is  the 
Church's  march  toward  millenial  glory  to  gather  speed 
and  volume,  or  that  of  the  world  toward  ruin  to  be 
arrested  and  turned  back.  God's  plans  arc  worked  out 
not  less  slowly  than  surely.  He,  being  eternal,  can  afford 
to  wait." 


SHLLOII.  409 

"  And  I,  being  mortal,  cannot  afford  to  see  that  my  life, 
so  far,  is  a  failure." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  pronounce  it  a  failure  ?  " 
"  It  has  wrought  so  little  for  God's  cause." 
"  That  remains  to  be  seen.  Neither  you  nor  I  can  esti- 
mate the  increase  of  the  seed  you  have  sown.  Men  die,  and 
count  their  labor  vain,  yet  the  cause  prospers.  Results  ap- 
pear, now  and  then ;  possibly  some  present  worker  takes 
the  credit  of  them,  and  forgets  to  add  his  predecessor's  la- 
bors to  the  long  account.  What  matter?  The  drop  which 
overflows  the  bucket,  and  gains  the  applause  of  men,  is  not, 
therefore,  larger,  nor  of  greater  value,  in  God's  sight.  Be- 
sides, we  may  all  solemnly  comfort  ourselves  with  the  cer- 
tainty that,  after  all,  it  is  of  little  moment  to  His  cause 
whether  we  work  for  it,  or  no.  It  will  not  fail  nor  flag,  for 
want  of  our  poor,  weak  instrumentality.  Innumerable 
agencies  are  at  His  command.  He  can  call  them  forth 
from  the  mire,  and  fashion  them  out  of  the  stubble.  Fire 
and  flood,  battle  and  storm,  and  the  unruly  wills  of  sinful 
men,  alik£  serve  him." 

"  You  preach  strange  doctrine,"  said  he,  looking  at  me 
intently.  "So  it  does  not  matter  whether  we  work  for 
God's  cause  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  I  did  not  say  that !  It  is  of  vast  moment  to  us  ! 
For  our  own  sakes,  we  ought  not  to  let  our  hands  rest,  for 
one  moment,  out  of  His  work.  For  we  know  that,  if  we 
build  not  according  to  His  will,  we  build  in  opposition  to 
it ;  and  all  such  work  is  vain,  and  will  be  overthrown.  We 
are  working  out  our  ruin,  if  we  are  not  working  out  our 
salvation.  That-  last  is  the  work  which  we  are  chiefly  set 
to  do,  and  for  which  alone  we  are  wholly  responsible.  To 
save  us  from  selfishness,  God  has  so  arranged  that  we  cannot 
accomplish  it  without  doing  our  utmost  for  the  salvation 
of  others.  Every  stroke  deliberately  withheld  from  theirs, 
is  so  much  withheld  from  ours.  Still,  our  own  is  the  main 
thing." 

18 


410  SHILOII. 

Mr.  Taylor  looked  at  me  meditatively,  and  as  if  not 
quite  satisfied. 

"  Else,  how  dark  the  providence,"  I  went  on,  "  when  a 
good  man  is  cut  off  in  the  midst  of  his  days  and  his  use- 
fulness !  But  if  we  understand  that,  his  own  calling  and 
election  being  made  sure,  his  earthly  work  was  finished,  we 
see  light.  God  could  do  just  as  well  without  him,  on  earth  ; 
and  he  was  fitted,  so  far  as  he  was  ever  likely  to  be,  for 
heaven.  What  need  to  keep  him  longer  in  a  state  of  pro- 
bation and  trial  ? 

"  Work  on  in  faith  and  hope,  Mr.  Taylor,  and  look  in 
your  own  heart  for  results.  If  you  find  them  there,  be 
content ;  for  even  St.  Paul  contemplated  the  possibility  of 
being  a  castaway,  while  preaching  to  others.  Leave  out- 
side results  to  God." 

"  Ah ! "  said  he,  with  a  smile  that  was  tinged  with  sad- 
ness, "  you  should  have  been  the  preacher,  and  I  the  lay- 
worker,  Miss  Frost." 

"  Not  so,"  I  answered.  "  It  would  be  strange  indeed,  if 
I  were  not  furnished  with  material  for  one  short  sermon 
to  you,  since  you  have  preached  me  so  many !  I  give  you 
back  the  slow  distillation  of  your  own  wisdom." 

"  It  is  better  than  I  thought  it  was,"  he  rejoined,  cheer- 

iiy. 

The  event  proved  that  Mr.  Taylor's  work  was  more 
fruitful  in  results  than  he  had  known.  Yesterday  he  pre- 
sented eleven  candidates  to  the  Bishop  for  confirmation. 
Among  them  were  Carrie,  Ruth,  and  Alice — fruits,  I  hum- 
bly dared  to  think,  not  alone  of  his  faithful  sowing,  but  of 
my  own  quiet  watering.  The  sweet  thought  bowed  my 
head  so  low,  while  it  lifted  my  heart  to  the  skies,  that  I 
quite  forgot  that  my  voice  was  to  take  the  place  of  Ruth's, 
in  the  hymn  to  be  sung  while  the  candidates  were  gather- 
ing at  the  chancel-rail.  Essie  sounded  the  preliminary 
and  opening  chords,  but  I  was  deaf  to  the  call.  There  was 
a  momentary  flutter  of  embarrassment  and  perplexity  in 


SIIILOII.  411 

the  choii1.  Then  Ruth,  standing  just  before  the  altar,  half- 
turned,  and  took  up  the  lagging  strain.  The  sweet,  clear, 
thrilling  voice  swept  round  the  church,  drawing  a  few  trem- 
ulous voices  after  it,  as  it  went ;  and  then  soared  alpft,  like 
the  very  spirit  of  sacred  song.  The  choir  followed  after — • 
as  soon  as  it  could  recover  itself — with  a  kind  of  breathless 
swoop,  and  the  church  was  filled  with  harmony.  Still,  that 
swelling  voice  from  the  chancel-rail  led  all  the  rest,  domi- 
nating all,  etherializing  all,  infusing  through  all  its  own  sub- 
tile sweetness  and  intensity  of  feeling.  How  wondrously, 
and  yet  with  what  entire  unconsciousness,  the  inspired  girl 
sang, — putting  her  whole  soul  into  her  voice,  and  slightly 
bending  her  head,  as  if  listening -to  some  celestial  accom- 
paniment, inaudible  to  us: — 

"  Witness,  ye  men  and  angels !  now 

Before  the  Lord  we  speak  : 
To  Him  we  make  our  solemn  vow 
A  vow  we  dare  not  break  ! " 

I  drew  a  long,  breath  when  it  was  all  over.  For,  I  need 
not  say  that,  not  Alice,  with  her  budding  genius ;  nor  Car- 
rie, with  her  softness ;  nor  even  Essie,  with  her  bright 
good-nature,  and  the  healthful  play  of  her  fresh,  full  life ; 
but  Ruth,  with  her  varying  moods,  her  sore  cross  of  in- 
firmity, and  her  entrancing  voice ;  lies  nearest  my  heart. 

Aunt  Vin  met  us  in  the  vestibule.  "  I  know  'twould  be 
a  work  of  superderogation  to  tell  you  that  you  sing  like  a 
sheriff,  Ruth,"  she  said,  benignantly ;  "  you've  had  the 
opinion  of  better  cynosures  than  I  am.  But  I  hearjl  Essie 
Volger  saying,  the  other  day,  that  you  could  sing  the 
rheumatic  scale  to  refection ;  and  I'm  coming  up,  some  day, 
on  purpose  to  hear  it.  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  sort 
of  a  piece  it  is  ;  but  if  there's  any  music  to  be  distracted 
from  the  rheumatiz,  I'm  the  person  to  depreciate  it.  I  have 
it  awful,  sometimes." 


XXXIX. 

A    BE-FLOW    OF   TROUBLE. 

"  artist  of  wonderful  power  has  appeared  in 
Shiloh,  and  is  painting  the  quiet  little  ham- 
let with  a  gorgeousness  of  color,  a  boldness 
of  treatment,  a  breadth  of  effect,  and  a  brillian- 
cy of  tone,  beyond  all  that  Ruskin  could  con- 
ceive, or  Turner  dare  to  paint.  She  charges 
the  forests  with  great  masses  of  glowing 
reds,  shading,  at  the  edges,  into  orange.  She 
makes  a  tree  on  the  hillside — otherwise  green — to  hold  out 
one  bough  burning  as  with  flame,  and  another  reddened  as 
with  blood.  She  paints  the  oaks  in  rich  raiment  of  purple 
and  crimson,  blotched  with  golden  brown.  She  dips  her 
pencil  in  bright  scarlet  for  the  sumach,  and  pale  yellow  for 
the  beeches.  Here  and  there,  in  the  meadows,  an  isolated 
maple  becomes  a  fixed,  earthly  embodiment  of  the  sunset's 
celestial  and  evanescent  glories.  At  last,  having  emptied 
her  palette  of  all  its  most  brilliant  colors,  she  tones  down 
the  dazzling  effect  by  drawing  over  the  picture,  soft,  gauzy 
veils  of  azure  and  amethystine  haze.  Needless  to  say  that 
her  name  is  Autumn  ! 

Yes,  Francesca,  the  feet  of  October  ai'e  bright  on  the 
hilltops,  and  still  I  am  in  Shiloh  !  Two  weeks  ago  Uncle 
John  wrote  to  ask  if  it  was  not  time  for  the  "  rose  crop  "  to 
be  in,  and  Flora  ended  a  resume  of  her  winter's  plans  with 
a  threat  to  come  and  see  for  herself  what  mischief  I  was 
about,  if  I  did  not  at  once  return  to  help  in  their  execu- 


SHILOH.  4:13 

tion.  Even  Aunt  Belle  added  a  gracious  postscript  to  the 
effect  that  a  kindly  welcome  home  was  ready  for  me  when- 
ever I  chose  to  claim  it ;  to  characters  so  radically  disso- 
nant as  hers  and  mine,  an  occasional  separation  is  a  wonder- 
ful promoter  of  harmony.  We  shall  tolerate  each  other  all 
the  more  cordially  through  the  winter  for  the  summer's 
escape  from  the  necessity  of  toleration. 

First,  I  was  kept  in  Shiloh  by  the  autumn  pictures,  to 
which  every  day  added  some  new  effect  that  I  could  not 
bear  to  miss  ;  then,  by  a  new  wave  of  trouble,  or  rather,  the 
reflow  of  an  old  one.  In  the  fair,  still,  sunny  days  of  late 
September,  the  fever,  so  long  held  in  abeyance,  broke  out 
again.  My  child-woman,  Libby,  was  one  of  the  first  to 
sicken.  She  was  so  unmistakably  a  child  of  God  that,  when 
Bob  burst  into  my  room  crying  out  "Libby's  got  the 
fever ! "  I  felt  how  fit  it  was  that  she  should  be  called  to 
enjoy  her  heavenly  inheritance,  and  knew  that  I  had  not  a 
thread  to  hang  an  earthly  hope  upon.  A  few  days  later 
her  mortal  part  went  to  swell  the  immortal  harvest  to  be 
finally  reaped  from  Shiloh  burial  ground. 

From  the  clods  and  the  flowers  laid  gently  upon  her 
small  grave,  I  went  to  Mrs.  Burcham's  bedside.  She  had 
been  stricken  down  by  the  fever,  about  a  week  previous. 
Soon  after,  Major  Burcham  had  sought  Aunt  Yin  and 
begged  her,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  take  charge  of  the 
sick-room  ;  his  wife  had  no  relatives  within  easy  distance, 
none  of  them  could  reach  her  under  some  days ;  meanwhile, 
she  would  be  left  to  such  care,  willing  but  unskilful,  as  he 
could  give  her,  and  the  various  assistance  of  the  neighbors. 
The  appeal  was  not  made  in  vain.  For  five  days  the  faith- 
ful old  nurse  had  been  at  her  post :  for  the  past  three  days 
and  nights  she  had  scarcely  slept.  That  morning,  I  had 
looked  in  upon  her,  on  my  way  to  Libby's  corpse,  and 
found  her  looking  nearly  as  haggard  as  her  patient. 

"  You  are  killing  yourself,"  I  remonstrated.  "  Surely, 
you  can  have  watchers  at  night." 


414  SHILOH. 

"  Don't  you  be  troubled !  I'm  made  of  tougher  imma- 
terial than  you  think.  As  to  the  watchers,  there's  plenty 
of  'em  to  be  had  for  the  askin' — good,  bad,  and  diiferent. 
But  the  truth  is,  that  every  time  I've  left  her,  she's  run 
down  unrecountably, — pulse  all  gone  to  most  nothin', — and 
it's  took  all  my  wits  to  bring  her  up  again.  So  I've  made 
up  my  mind  that  it's  easier  to  stick  by  her  as  long  as  she's 
in  such  a  carious  situation  ;  or,  at  least,  till  you  have  done 
your  last  good  deed  for  poor  little  Libby,  and  can  come 
and  stay  with  Mis'  Burcham  while  I  refute  myself  with  a 
nap.  I  ain't  afraid  to  trust  her  with  you,  but  there  ain't 
another  person  in  all  Shiloh  that  I'm  willin'  to  leave  her 
with,  though  it  does  sound  a  little  like  self-gloriousness !  " 

So  Mr.  Divine  drove  me  directly  from  the  graveyard  to 
the  house  of  Major  Burcham.  That  gentleman  was  stand- 
ing by  the  gate,  and  assisted  me  to  alight.  I  saw  him  look 
at  Leo  (who  was  with  us,  as  usual)  in  a  way  that  I  could 
not  understand ;  I  saw  Leo  look  at  him  grimly,  fiercely, 
giving  utterance  to  a  low  growl. 

"  Leo  ! "  said  Mr.  Divine,  sharply,  yet  with  no  intona- 
tion of  surprise. 

It  was  plain  that  the  dog  had  an  antipathy  to  Major 
Burcham,  and  that  Mr.  Divine  understood  it  well. 

Mrs.  Divine  began  to  make  kind  inquiries  after  Mrs. 
Burcham.  Before  they  came  to  an  end,  I  discovered  that 
the  soft,  warm  slippers,  in  which  I  had  expected  to  be 
"  shod  with  silence  "  and  with  comfort,  during  the  night- 
watch,  had  been  left  behind  ;  and  I  begged  Mrs.  Divine  to 
send  them  to  me,  by  Leo,  sometime  in  the  course  of  the 
evening. 

"  He  has  seen  me  alight  here,"  said  I,  in  conclusion, 
"  and  will  know  where  to  find  me." 

"  Ye-es,"  returned  she,  hesitatingly.  Then,  seeing  that 
Mr.  Divine  had  engaged  the  Major's  attention,  she  leaned 
over,  and  whispered ; — "  Leo'll  bring  them,  I  guess,  seeing 
it's  you ;  but  you  had  better  keep  a  little  lookout  for  him, 


SHILOH.  415 

for  I  doubt  if  he'll  come  inside  the  gate, — that  is,  unless  he 
sees  you  somewhere  round.  I'll  send  him  about  eight 
o'clock." 

The  wagon  rolled  away ;  Leo,  after  a  long,  wistful  look 
at  me,  as  he  saw  me  turn  toward  the  house  with  Major 
Burcham,  bounded  after  it ;  and  I  went  in,  wondering  what 
possible  cause  of  feud  could  exist  between  the  faithful,  mild- 
tempered  dog  and  the  pompous  man  at  my  side, 

"  Mr.  Divine  told  me  that  he  had  bought  Leo  of  Major 
Burcham's  Irishman,"  said  I  to  myself.  "  Ah  !  yes,  I  see, — 
the  Irishman's  dog,  treated  with  contempt,  possibly  Avith 
cruelty,  by  the  Irishman's  master.  Leo  remembers  and 
resents  it." 

Aunt  Vin  met  me  at  the  door  of  the  sick-room.  Wben 
she  had  made  me  fully  acquainted  with  its  routine,  I  said 
to  her ; — 

"  Xow,  go  straight  to  bed,  and  leave  every  care 
behind." 

"  I'm  agoin',"  replied  she,  with  a  long  yawn,  "I  don't 
need  but  one  such  conjunction.  I  didn't  know  I  teas  so 
sleepy  till  you  come  in ;  the  very  sight  of  you  was  omniv- 
orous !  Be  sure  and  call  me  at  nine  o'clock ;  then,  it'll  be 
time  to  shift  her  on  to  t'other  bed."  And  Aunt  Vin  took 
herself  oif. 

Mrs.  Burcham  appeared  not  to  notice  the  change  of 
nurses.  She  lay  with  her  eyes  closed,  in  a  half  stupor, 
from  which  (I  had  been  warned)  she  roused  completely 
only  at  intervals.  Sometimes  she  slept, — a  troubled,  un- 
easy sleep, — wherefrom  it  was  necessary  to  waken  her — 
partially,  at  least — every  few  moments. 

Two  hours  crept  slowly  away ;  twilight  began  to  gather. 
With  it,  heavy  clouds  rolled  up  from  the  east ;  a  peal  of 
thunder  sounded  from  afar.  Mrs.  Burcham  woke  from  a 
brief  slumber  with  a  start  and  a  moan,  and  the  sorrowful 
lament  of  David  fell  brokenly  from  her  lips  ; — 

"  My  son !  my  son  !  oh,  my  son  ! " 


41G  SHILOH. 

I  heard  it  with  alarm.  Delirium  was  always  a  dreaded 
symptom,  in  the  fever.  And  no  question  but  she  was  de- 
lirious,— for,  if  she  had  ever  had  a  son,  he  must  have  been 
dead  years  ago  ;  I  had  never  heard  of  him.  Indeed,  I  be- 
lieved her  to  have  been  childless.  I  laid  my  hand  upon  her 
head,  felt  her  pulse,  listened  anxiously  to  her  breathing,  but 
could  detect  no  sign  of  increasing  fever  or  weakness ;  and  I 
sat  down  again,  a  little  reassured,  just  as  another  rumble  of 
thunder  filled  the  air.  It  helped  to  rouse  her  completely. 
She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  me,  intelligently  enough. 
There  was  no  sign  of  the  delirium  I  had  feared. 

"It  is  Miss  Frost,"  said  she,  feebly.     "You  are  very, 
kind.     Is  Aunt  Vin  resting  ?  " 

%"  Yes ;  for  a  little  while.  She  needed  rest ;  and  she 
said  she  was  not  at  all  afraid  to  leave  you  with  me,"  re- 
plied I,  fearing  lest  she  might  be  disturbed  at  finding  her- 
self in  other  hands  than  those  of  her  accustomed  and  ex- 
perienced nurse. 

"  I  am  very  glad — that  she  is  resting,  I  mean.  I  hope 
you  are  making  yourself  comfortable.  There  is  wine  in  the 
closet ;  it  will  help  to  keep  up  your  strength.  And  there 
is  an  easier  chair  in  the  parlor,  tell  Bridget  to  bring  it  in 
for  you." 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  me,  I  am  quite  comfort- 
able," I  answered,  much  marveling  at  the  change  that  a 
few  days  of  sickness  had  wrought  in  Mrs.  Burcham's  man- 
ner. Gratitude  for  kindness  and  consideration  for  others 
were  not  its  most  prominent  chai'acteristics,  formerly. 

She  insisted,  and,  to  satisfy  her,  the  chair  was  brought. 
Then,  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  sank  again  into  stupor. 

An  hour  went  by.  Darkness  was  fully  come.  The 
storm,  which  had  seemed  to  retreat,  for  a  time,  now  drew 
near  again ;  heavy  drops  of  rain  fell ;  flashes  of  lightning 
came  and  went,  followed  by  the  loud  roll  of  thunder. 

Glancing  at  my  watch,  I  saw  that  it  was  about  time  for 
Leo  to  arrive ;  and  began  to  wonder  how  I  was  to  manage 


SHILOH.  41 7 

that  "  lookout "  which  Mrs.  Divine  had  advised.  The  bed- 
room, was  at  the  back  of  the  house;  one  window  opened 
upon  a  dense  orchard,  the  other,  into  a  small  recess  or  al- 
cove, enclosed  on  three  sides  only,  and  termed  in  Shiloh  a 
"shed."  While  I  was  yet  considering  the  difficulty,  I 
heard  a  sound  in  this  shed ;  which,  after  listening  a  moment, 
I  knew  to  be  made  by  my  canine  friend,  shaking  the  rain 
from  his  shaggy  coat.  Immediately,  his  huge  head  and 
chest  appeared  framed  in  the  open  window,  his  fore-paws 
resting  on  the  sill,  and,  in  his  mouth  a  small  package 
carefully  wrapped  in  oiled-skin,  to  protect  it  from,  the 
rain.  Instead  of  scratching  at  the  main  entrance,  as  is 
his  wont,  in  his  character  of  messenger,  it  would  seem 
that  the  sagacious  animal  had  quietly  reconnoitered  the 
premises,  until,  discovering  me  sitting  alone  in  the  sick- 
room, he  had  ventured  to  make  his  appearance  at  the 
window. 

I  rose,  intending  to  relieve  him  of  his  burden,  give  him 
a  pat  on  the  head,  and  silently  motion  him  to  depart,  when 
a  fearful  peal  of  thunder  shook  the  house,  startling  Mrs. 
Burcham  into  sudden  consciousness.  Her  eyes  opened  full 
upon  Leo's  dark  figure. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  she  asked,  in  alarm. 

"  It  is  only  Leo — Mr.  Divine's  dog,"  I  hastened  to  say, 
soothingly, — "he  has  brought  me  some  slippers  that  I  for- 
got to  bring  myself." 

The  look  of  fright  passed  quickly  from  her  eyes,  and  a 
soft,  mournful  expression  came  there  instead.  To  my  utter 
surprise,  she  said,  in  low,  faint  tones, — but  distinct  enough, 
doubtless,  to  the  dog's  quick  ears, — 

"  Leo  !   come  here  !  " 

He  leaped  through  the  window,  came  to  the  bedside, 
and  looked  down  upon  her  with  a  benignant,  yet  an  inquisi. 
tive,  face.  She  feebly  lifted  her  wasted  hand  and  laid  it  on 
his  great,  rough  head. 

"  Oh,  Leo !  Leo  !  "  she  exclaimed,  mournfully,  "  where 
18*  ' 


4:18  SIIILOH. 

is  your  master  ?  "  Two  large  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes, 
and  rolled  down  on  the  pillow. 

I  was  amazed  and  alarmed.  The  scene  was  utterly  in- 
comprehensible ;  but  I  saw  that  it  involved  excitement  and 
emotion  which  could  not  be  otherwise  than  hurtful  to  my 
patient,  and  I  hastened  to  put  an  end  to  it. 

"  Leo ! "  I  began,  somewhat  sternly,  "  it  is  time  for  you 
to  go  home,  sir." 

"  Oh !  no,  no,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Burcham,  pleadingly, — 
"  do  not  send  him  away  yet !  It  is  so  pleasant  to  have  him 
here  once  more !  Besides,  he  never  likes  to  go  out  in  a 
thunderstorm,  you  know." 

It  was  true.  Leo  has  a  very  human  dislike,  amounting 
to  a  species  of  nervous  terror,  of  a  thunderstorm.  He  will 
face  one  at  the  call  of  duty ;  but  he  would  much  prefer  to 
have  duty  choose  a  fairer  occasion.  Yet  I  was  astonished 
at  Mrs.  Burcham's  intimate  knowledge  of  his  idiosyncrasy. 

However,  it  was  no  time  to  question  nor  argue.  I 
pointed  to  a  dim  corner  and  bade  Leo  lie  down,  which  he 
did  at  once.  Then,  seeing  that  it  was  nearly  time  for  the 
patient's  anodyne,  I  ventured  to  anticipate  it  a  little,  and 
to  increase  the  dose  by  two  or  three  drops,  to  balance  the 
unexpected  excitements  of  the  moment.  As  she  swallowed 
it,  there  came  another  heavy  clap  of  thunder. 

"It  is  a  fearful  storm!"  said  she,  with  a  slight  shiver. 
"  It  was  in  just  such  a  storm  that —  " 

She  checked  the  words,  or  they  faltered  on  her  tongue, 
I  could  not  tell  which.  A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  her  face  ; 
then,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  lay  quite  still,  but  neither  in 
stupor  nor  in  sleep,  I  saw  plainly.  I  sat  watching  her, 
praying  that  the  anodyne  might  quickly  take  effect.  My 
anxiety  was  too  great  to  allow  me  to  wonder  much  at  the 
scene  which  I  had  just  witnessed.  I  only  felt  dimly,  that 
here  were  memories  and  sorrows  at  work  to  which  I  had  no 
clue ;  curiously  connected  with  Leo,  too ;  and  not  in  the 
least  explained  by  that  hypothesis  of  the  Irishman's  dog 


6HILOH.  419 

and  the  Irishman's  master  which  had  BO  satisfactorily  ac- 
counted for  whatever  was  strange  in  the  joint  behavior  of 
Major  Burcham  and  that  dumb,  black  animal  coiled  up  in 
yonder  corner : — whom,  by  the  way,  I  was  resolved  to  send 
quietly  home  as  soon  as  I  could  do  so  without  attracting  the 
sick  woman's  attention.  I  deeply  regretted  that  he  had 
ever  been  sent  hither  on  errand  of  mine. 

Little  did  I  imagine  that  it  was  God's  errand,  and  not 
mine,  which  which  had  brought  Leo  there,  that  night ! 

Some  silent  moments  passed  by,  and  I  trusted  that  Mrs. 
Burcham's  over-burdened  heart  was  slowly  sinking  into  the 
soft  depths  of  slumber,  when  her  eyes  opened  once  more. 
There  was  no  sleep,  no  forgetfulness  in  them, — only  thought, 
trouble,  wistfulncss. 

"  Miss  Frost,"  said  she,  quite  calmly,  "  how  long  do  you 
think  I  have  to  live  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Burcham ! "  I  exclaimed,  almost  in  des- 
pair, "  pray  do  not  agitate  yourself  any  further,  at  present ! 
Try  to  leave  all  your  cares — your  life  also — in  the  hands 
of  God,  who  cai'eth  for  you,  who  pitieth  you  as  a  father 
pitieth  his  own  children.  Lay  yourself  in  His  mercy  as  in 
a  bed,  and  there  sleep  all  your  cares  and  fears  away ! " 

"  As  a  father  pitieth  his  own  children,"  she  repeated, 
slowly,  as  if  thinking  aloud,  and  paying  no  heed  to  the  rest 
of  my  words, — "  yes,  that  is  it — that  is  what  I  must  say  to 
him.  Miss  Frost,  please  tell  my  husband  I  want  to  see 
him." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  wait  till  morning  ?  "  I  en- 
treated. "  You  have  had  too  much  excitement  already ;  I 
really  ought  to  forbid  any  more.  Do  try  to  forget  all  that 
troubles  you,  and  go  to  sleep  ! " 

"  I  have  tried,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  cannot.  Besides, 
I  may  not  live  till  morning, — '  the  night  cometh,  in  which 
no  man  can  work.'  And  I  have  something  to  do  before  I 
die, — Leo  has  come  here  on  purpose  to  remind  me  of  it, 
to  rouse  me  up  to  it,  to  help  me  through  it.  Let  me  do  it 


420  SfllLOH. 

while  I  have  strength  and  reason.  Please  call  my  hus- 
band ! " 

I  saw  that  it  was  necessary  to  do  her  bidding.  Feeling 
her  pulse,  I  found  it  strong  and  regular,  though  quick : 
something — love,  duty,  hope — was  strengthening  her  for 
the  work  she  had  to  do.  Dimly  I  began  to  discern  the 
finger  of  Providence,  of  Guidance,  in  the  strange,  and,  at 
first  sight,  casual  incidents  of  the  evening : — whither  it 
pointed,  I  would  go ! 

As  Major  Burcham  entered  the  room,  I  cast  an  anxious 
glance  at  Leo.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  his  eyes  looked 
gloomy  and  sullen,  but  he  made  no  \mfriendly  demonstra- 
tion ;  plainly,  he  respected  the  sanctities  of  the  sick-cham- 
ber, or  he  deferred  to  the  rights  of  the  master  of  the  house, 
or  his  fierceness  was  held  in  check  by  awe  of  the  thunder- 
storm. I  went  out,  and  left  the  husband  and  wife  to- 
gether. 

I  had  been  in  the  sitting-room  but  a  few  moments,  when 
Aunt  Vin  joined  me. 

"  It  thundered  so  hard  I  couldn't  sleep,"  said  she,  yawn- 
ing, "  so  I  insided  I  might  as  well  come  down.  What  time 
is  it?" 

"  It  is  near  nine  o'clock." 

She  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  closed  door  of  the  bed- 
room, through  which  came  indistinctly  the  faint,  beseeching 
tones  of  Mrs.  Burcham's  voice,  and  the  heavier,  yet  sub- 
dued and  broken,  accents  of  her  husband. 

"  I  don't  quite  like  that"  said  she,  significantly,  "  though 
I've  been  participating  it,  this  three  days." 

It  was  plain  that  the  mystery  was  no  mystery  to  her ! 

Before  I  could  answer,  Major  Burcham  threw  wide  open 
the  door.  If  that  was  Major  Burcham  !  All  his  pomposity 
and  self-sufficiency  gone  as  completely  as  foliage  from  a 
forest  where  fire  hath  been, — teai*s  in  his  eyes, — a  broken, 
shaken,  grief-stricken  man,  whose  very  aspect  smote  me 
with  compassion. 


siiiLoir.  421 

"  Aunt  Vin — Miss  Frost — "  he  began,  in  faltering  tones, 
— "  my  wife  wants  me  to  call  you  to  witness  that  I  promise 
her  to — to  forgive  our  son  Henry  fully  and  freely,  from  this 
day  forth ; — and  to  take  immediate  steps  to  find  out  what 
has  become  of  him  ;  and  to — rreceive  him,  whenever  he  re- 
turns, as — as  a  loving  father,  whether — " 

His  voice  failed  ;  a  great  sob  heaved  his  broad  chest. 

"  Whether  I  am  dead  or  alive,"  prompted  Mrs.  Burcham, 
slowly  and  distinctly. 

"  Whether  she  is — dead  or  alive, — so  help — me — God !  " 
faltered  the  Major,  in  trembling,  yet  earnest  and  solemn 
tones. 

Mrs.  Burcham's  face,  while  these  sentences  were  in  pro- 
gress, was  a  sight  to  see ! — the  eager,  hungry  look  with 
which  she  waited,  at  every  break,  for  the  next  words,  seem- 
ing to  draw  them  foi'th  by  the  very  force  of  her  expectation, 
— the  perfect  satisfaction  and  peace  that  settled  upon  her 
features  as  the  Major  ended,  transfiguring  them  into  a  soft 
and  beautiful  unearthliness. 

"  I  can  die  happy  now ! "  she  murmured,  reaching  up 
her  arms  to  her  husband,  the  dew  of  a  new  birth  of  wifely 
love  shining  in  her  eyes. 

Aunt  Vin  softly  closed  the  door  upon  them.  "I'll 
give  'em  jest  two  minutes,  by  the  clock,"  said  she,  almost 
fiercely  ;  "  then,  I  shall  gravitate  that  man  out  of  that  room 
so  quick,  he'll  think  he's  an  extant  race  !  " 

Getting  no  answer,  she  turned  and  saw  my  face  of  mute 
perplexity. 

"  Goodness  !  child  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  didn't  you  ever 
hear  about  Henry  Burcham  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Then  I  s'pose  I  must  give  you  an  exclamation.  Well ! 
he  was  Major  and  Mis'  Burcham's  only  child,  and  as  bright 
and  handsome  and  good-hearted  a  boy  as  ever  you  see, — 
high-sperited,  too,  as  you  might  demise,  seein'  what  stock 
he  come  from,— but  a  boy  that  everybody  liked  and  made 


422  8IIILOH. 

much  of,  in  Shiloh.  Well,  his  father  was  sot  on  makin' 
him  a  lawyer,  but  Henry  wanted  to  be  a  painter, — he  took 
to  brush  and  pellet  jest  as  nateral  as  a  duck  takes  to 
water; couldn't  help  makin'  picturs  no  more  than  he  could 
help  breathin',  poor  fellow  !  His  father  forbid  it,  in  ex- 
tinct terms,  over  and  over  again,  but  his  mother  derived  at 
it,  in  secret,  I  guess, — anyhow,  Henry  had  his  canvas-backs 
and  his  boxes  of  brushes  and  collars  up  in  his  own  room, 
and  painted  all  the  time  he  could  get.  Well,  the  upshop 
of  it  all  was  that  Major  Burcham  found  it  out,  one  day, 
and  flew  into  a  tearin'  passion,  and  told  Henry  that  if  he 
was  bent  on  disgracin'  his  name  by  being  a  poor  miserable 
painter,  he  wished  he'd  clear  out  and  never  show  him  his  face 
agin.  The  boy  took  him  at  his  word, — it  was  an  awful, 
stormy  night  jest  like  this ;  and  in  the  morning,  they  found 
his  room  empty,  and  him  miners  ;  and  he's  never  been  heerd 
on  since.  That's  most  eight  year  ago.  It's  strange  you 
never  happened  to  hear  on't,  and  you  a-stayin'  at  the  Di- 
vines, too  !  Why,  if  you  say,  '  Henry  Burcham  ! '  to  that 
great  dog  of  theirs,  now  to  this  day,  he'll,  whine  and  take 
on  like  mad." 

"  Leo  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  what  has  he  to  do  with  it  ?  " 
"  Why,  Leo  was  Henry  Burcham's  dog,  first.  Some- 
body made  him  a  present  of  him,  when  he  was  a  pup,  and 
they  were  uncommonly  detached  to  each  other.  You  nev- 
er saw  one  without  t'other ;  Mr.  Dragner  used  to  call  'em 
'  Tamon  and  Pathos.'  When  Henry  went  off,  he  give  the 
dog  to  Mike,  his  father's  Irishman,  to  keep  for  him  ; — but 
the  Major  never  could  bear  the  sight  of  him, — I  guess  he 
was  an  onpleasant  momentum  of  his  son  ! — and  he  kicked 
him,  one  day ;  and  the  dog  spi'ang  at  his  throat,  and  like 
to  choke  him  to  death  afore  they  could  pull  him  off;  and 
so  the  Irishman  had  to  sell  him  to  Mr.  Divine." 

For  some  moments,  I  sat  silent,  slowly  digesting  these 
various  items  of  information.  Then,  I  took  out  my  tablets 
and  began  writing  rapidly. 


SHILOH.  423 

"  What  are  you  doin'  ? "  asked  Aunt  Vin,  with  sur- 
prise,— "  takin'  notes  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  writing  these  words ; — '  Your  mother  is 
dangerously  ill,  and  longs  to  see  you.  Come  immediately? 
I  sign  it  with  my  name,  and  I  am  going  to  send  it,  by  Leo, 
to  Henry  Burcham — alias,  Harry  Archum — alias,  Mr. 
Cambur !  " 

"  Good  land  !  "  exclaimed  she,  settling  into  the  nearest 
chair,  and  jerking  her  head  in  her  grimmest  fashion,  "  if 
that  don't  beat  all !  And  to  think  that  I  never  once  in- 
spected him !  Yet  I've  told  him,  a  dozen  times,  that  he 
dissembled  somebody  I'd  seen  afore  !  " 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  wrapping  my  tablets  in  a  part  of 
the  oiled-skin  so  seasonably  provided,  "  if  you  think  you 
cati  venture  to  open  that  door,  I  will  call  Leo  out,  and 
send  him  on  his  errand." 

"  Bless  us  !  "  ejaculated  Aunt  Yin,  recalled  to  the  recol- 
lection of  her  patient's  situation,  "  I  ought  to  have  done  it 
afore  !  " 

I  led  Leo  quietly  into  the  porch,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  us. 

"  Take  this,"  said  I,  slowly  and  distinctly,  and  strongly 
emphasizing  the  underscored  words, — "  take  this,  quickly, 
to  Henry  Burcham.  He  may  be  at  the  studio,  or  at  Mrs. 
DanfortNs,  or  at  the'  depot.  FIND  HIM  !  " 

The  last  words,  I  knew,  Leo  understood  perfectly. 
How  far  he  comprehended  the  rest  of  my  directions,  I 
ccruld  not  be  sure :  but,  as  he  had  often  surprised  me  by 
showing  that  he  knew  the  names  of  many  persons,  places, 
and  things,  which  no  one  had  taken  any  special  pains  to 
bring  to  his  notice ;  and  as  he  had  visited  all  these  spots 
with  me,  on  several  occasions  ;  I  felt  tolerably  at  ease,  even 
on  this  point.  The  more,  that  he  took  the  tablets  be- 
tween his  teeth,  and,  without  the  least  hesitation,  dashed 
out  into  the  storm.  The  thunder  was  dying  away  in  the 
distance,  but  the  rain  fell  more  heavily  than  ever,  and  an 


424:  SHILOH. 

angry  wind  drove  it  in  sheets  against  the  windows  and 
shook  it  -from  the  groaning  trees.  It  was  a  wild  night, 
dark  to  utter  obscurity  ;  no  man  would  have  liked  to  lace 
it ;  my  messenger,  I  felt,  was  the  fittest,  swiftest,  surest, 
that  could  have  been  provided.  In  that  faith,  I  went  back 
to  the  sick-room. 

Before  taking  you  thither,  however,  I  will  give  you  the 
explanation  of  my  instructions  to  Leo.  A  few  days  previous 
to  Mrs.  Burcham's  seizure,  the  artist  had  gone  to  the  city,  on 
business.  He  had  told  me  that  he  should  positively  return 
on  this  (Saturday)  evening.  The  train  would  be  late,  I 
knew ;  it  would  not  reach  the  depot  till  aftej  the  storm 
had  begun.  He  might  wait  there  for  it  to  cease ;  he 
might  set  forth,  and  be  glad  to  take  shelter  with  Mrs.  Dan- 
forth ;  or  he  might  persevere  till  he  reached  the  studio. 
In  one  or  the  other  of  these  places,  I  felt  certain,  he  would 
be  found. 

Mrs.  Burcham  was  quietly  falling  asleep.  The  anodyne 
which  I  had  administered,  aided  by  the  relief  of  mind  and 
heart  afforded  by  Major  Burcham's  promise,  was  at  last 
taking  effect. 

I  stole  softly  to  Aunt  Vin's  side  and  asked,  in  a  whisper, 
if  the  mother  ought  not  to  be  informed  that  her  son  was 
nearer  than  she  had  believed,  and  that  she  might  hope  to 
see  him  soon  ? 

"  Not  till  she's  slept,"  answered  Aunt  Vin,  decidedly. 
"  That's  her  great  consideratum,  now.  Time  enough  to 
break  his  revival  to  her,  when  he  gets  here.-  But  you'd 
better  tell  Major  Burcham." 

He  listened  to  the  communication  almost  without  a 
word.  He  looked  even  more  pained  than  surprised  to  find 
that  his  son  had  been  in  Shiloh  so  long  without  making 
himself  known ;  nor  did  the  shadow  wholly  dissipate  as  I 
talked  of  his  rising  fame  as  an  artist.  He  exhibited  some 
fear  lest  my  message  might  not  reach  its  destination,  and 
talked  of  setting  forth  himself ;  but,  being  made  to  consider 


SHILOH.  425 

the  fury  of  the  storm,  and  Leo's  excellent  qualifications  for 
the  task  entrusted  to  him,  he  went  sadly  and  wearily  back 
to  the  silence  and  solitude  of  his  chamber.  The  argument 
which  really  prevailed  with  him,  however,  was  probably 
shadowed  forth  in  a  few  words  spoken  as  he  went ; — 

"  After  all,  Mrs.  Burcham  might — want  me,  before  I 
could  get  back  again." 

Together,  Aunt  Vin  and  I  kept  the  watch  in  the  sick- 
room. Neither  of  us  could  sleep,  now,  till  this  matter  was 
brought  to  some  conclusion.  We  sat  and  listened  through 
the  subsidences  of  the  wind  and  rain. 

Very  slowly  the  hours  wore  away.  Ten — eleven — 
struck ;  midnight  drew  near.  It  was  three  hours  since 
Leo's  departure.  Anxiety  took  possession  of  me ; — per- 
haps he  had  misunderstood  my  directions — perhaps  he  had 
failed  in  his  quest — possibly  the  artist  had  not  arrived, — a 
hundred  ii's  and  perad ventures,  the  gray,  teasing  progeny 
of  suspense  and  expectation,  thronged  my  mind  and  tor- 
mented me  with  their  pertinacious,  yet  changeful,  shapes. 
It  exasperated  me  to  see  Aunt  Vin's  calm  patience ;  it 
sickened  me  to  think  what  long  experience  of  just  such 
vigils,  such  expectation,  such  delay  and  such  anxiety,  it 
argiied ! 

Was  there  a  sound  outside  ?  I  held  my  breath  to  listen, 
with  my  eyes  involuntarily  resting  on  the  outer  door  of  the 
sitting-room.  I  saw  the  latch  noiselessly  lifted ;  the  door 
swung  open;  two  dripping  figures,  a  man  and  a  dog, 
entered.  Between  them  and  me  rushed  Major  Burcham, — • 
more  upon  the  alert  than  I, — to  throw  his  arms  around  his 
son,  and  murmur  some  incoherent  words. 

It  was  all  the  work  of  an  instant.  Before  Aunt  Vin 
could  turn  round  to  see  what  was  going  on,  before  I  could 
reach  and  close  the  bedroom  door,  Mrs.  Burcham  opened 
her  eyes,  saw  the  tableau,  and  read  its  meaning. 

"  My  son !  "  she  cried,  in  tones  that  thrilled  every 
heart, — "  it  is  my  son ! " 


XL. 

THROUGH  SHADOW  TO  LIGHT. 

is  said  that  joy  never  kills  ;  neither  does  it 
always  cure. 

Sunday  morning  dawned  fair  and  still.  Its 
early  rays  showed  Mrs.  Burcham's  face  lit  up 
with  such  peaceful  brightness,  the  soft  reflection 
of  a  mind  and  heart  at  rest,  that  I  thought  her 
better;  but  Aunt  Vin,  quicker  to  detect  the 
signs  betraying  the  waste  and  progress  of  dis- 
ease, quietly  shook  her  head. 

At  seven  o'clock, — the  hour  which  the  nurse's  experi- 
ence declared  to  be  the  one  wherein  her  patients  were 
strongest,— the  long  weariness  of  the  night  being  over,  and 
that  of  the  day  scarce  begun, — Mr.  Taylor  came,  according 
to  previous  arrangement,  to  administer  the  Holy  Commun- 
ion to  the  sick  woman. 

"  You  will  join  us  ?  "  he  said  to  Harry,  as  he  was  pre- 
paring for  the  feast. 

"  Yes, — as  my  mother  wishes  it  so  much.     That  is,  if 
you  do  not  think  I  am  unfit." 
"  You  have  been  confirmed  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes, — and  I  .have  communicated, — before  I  left 
home;  but — " 

"  But  what  ?  Have  you  lost  your  religious  faith  and 
hope  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  I  believe  firmly  in  religion,  and  I 
have  tried  to  live  it, — of  late,  at  least, — according  to  my 


SHILOH.  427 


light ;  but  I  do  not — that  is,  I  did  not,  two  months  age 
believe  in — Churches." 

Mr.  Taylor  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder,  with 
a  grave  smile.  "An  artist,"  said  he,  "  and  cannot  see  the 
beauty  and  the  fitness  of  organization !  As  well  say  that 
you  believe  in  boughs  and  roots,  but  not  in  trees  ;  in  flesh 
and  bones,  but  not  in  bodies  !  All  God's  higher  works  are 
organized  bodies,  not  loose  elements  nor  disjointed  mem- 
bers floating  about  without  connection  or  concert, — then 
why  not  the  highest  work  of  all,  His  Church  ? — by  which, 
as  says  St.  Paul,  His  manifold  wisdom  is  made  known  unto 
the  principalities  and  powers  in  heavenly  places, — a  won- 
derful proof,  certainly,  of  its  excellency  and  importance." 

The  artist  returned  the  smile  with  one  as  grave,  and 
more  thoughtful.  "  I  see  that  I  must  take  this  matter  into 
deeper  consideration  than  I  have  yet  done,"  said  he. 
"  Meanwhile — " 

"  Meanwhile,  if  anything  in  your  heart  responds  to  the 
Church's  broad,  yet  solemn,  invitation, — '  ye  who  do  truly 
and  earnestly  repent  you  of  your  sins,  and  are  in  love  and 
charity  with  your  neighbors,  and  intend  to  lead  a  new 
life ' — ,  I  think  you  may  venture  to  draw  near  with  faith 
and  take  this  holy  Sacrament  to  your  help  and  instruction 
and  comfort." 

It  was  a  holy  and  a  beautiful  hour,  that  early  Sunday 
morning  Communion  of  the  reconciled,  reunited  family,  in 
the  sick-room's  hush;  the  world  seemingly,  so  far,  the 
Redeemer  and  the  Comforter  so  near !  And,  seeing  Mrs. 
Burcham's  face  so  radiant  with  serenest  joy,  I  said  to 
myself  once  more,  "  She  is  certainly  better." 

Three  hours  afterward,  she  died  in  her  son's  arms  ! 

Standing  by  her  grave,  and  remembering  how  gentle 
and  patient  she  had  been  in  her  sickness,  how  anxious  to 
avoid  giving  trouble,  how  grateful  for  Mr.  Taylor's  con- 
stant visitations,  and  how  desirous  of  making  amends  to 
everybody  whom  she  had  wronged,  I  thought  remorsefully 


428  SHILOH. 

of  the  many  severe  and  sarcastic  things  I  have  written 
about  her,  and  wished  that  they  might  be  wiped  out  of  re- 
membrance. It  would  be  well  if  wo  could  always,  or 
even  in  general,  speak  of  others  as  we  do  over  their  newly- 
turfed  graves  ;  recognizing  their  good,  and  silently  leaving 
their  evil  to  the  Blotter-out  of  transgressions.  For  what 
*  have  any  of  us  to  do  with  judgment,  when  our  one,  con- 
stant prayer  is  for  mercy  ! 

After  the  funeral,  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Harry 
Burcham,  as  he  must  now  be  called ;  which  cleared  up 
some  points  that  had  puzzled  me-,  among  them  his  two 
aliases. 

Stung  to  the  quick  by  his  father's  angry,  ill-considered 
words,  he  had  left  home  resolved  nevermore  to  be  -known 
by  his  patronymic  till  that  father  himself  should  acknowl- 
edge that  he  honored  rather  than  disgraced  it.  So,  with  a 
natural  desire  to  feel  that  he  had  some  small  right  to  the 
name  he  was  henceforth  to  bear,  he  had  made  it  into  an  an- 
agram ;  writing  himself,  in  Rome,  as  "  H.  B.  Archum ;  " 
and  winning,  under  that  title,  whatever  measure  of  reputa- 
tion, as  an  artist,  he  now  enjoyed. 

For  seven  years,  in  America  and  in  Italy,  he  had  led 
his  lonely,  struggling  artist-life  ;  absorbed,  almost  forget- 
ful ;  content  to  feel  that  he  was  slowly  climbing  toward 
those  heights  whereon  his  soul  ever  gazed  with  aspiration 
and  longing.  But,  during  the  last  summer,  a  strange 
homesickness  had  stolen  over  him.  For  the  first  time,  he 
felt  something  of  the  exile's  pain.  Standing  by  the  turbid 
Tiber,  he  saw  only  the  clear,  blue  river  of  his  boyhood's 
love.  In  the  Campagna,  he  dreamed  of  New  England 
hills  and  rocks.  The  churches,  palaces,  ruins,  and  sepul- 
chres of  the  Eternal  City,  were  continually  fading  from  his 
^  sight,  and  quiet  New  England  homesteads,  embowered  in 
lilacs  and  apple-blossoms,  rose  in  their  stead. 

So  it  had  come  to  pass  that,  when  the  time  drew  near 
for  Rome's  foreign  population  to  flee  from  the  atmospheric 


SHILOH.  429 

terrors  which  overhang  it,  like  a  pall,  in  the  summer-time, 
the  artist  said  to  himself, — 

"  Why  not  spend  my  summer  in  my  native  land  ? 
Why  not  revisit  the  scenes  of  my  childhood, — secure  in 
the  changes  that  time  and  foreign  habits  have  wrought  in 
me, — and  judge  for  myself  if  my  father's  heart  has  soft- 
ened ? — I  know  my  mother  yearns  for  her  son  !  " 

But  he  had  reason  to  suppose  that  his  father  might 
now  be  cognizant  of  his  whereabouts  and  change  of 
name ;  a  mutual  friend,  residing  in  New  York,  having  met 
and  recognized  him,  in  Rome,  three  years  previous.  So 
he  twisted  his  name  into  a  second  anagram, — H.  H.  Cam- 
bur, — while  a  slight  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Danforth, 
formed  abroad,  and  a  more  intimate  one  with  an  artist 
friend  of  hers,  had  Opened  the  way  for  his  introduction 
to  Shiloh,  in  a  manner  to  ensure  him  courtesy  and  confi- 
dence. He  had  given  Mrs.  Danforth  such  outlines  of  his 
history  as  were  necessary  to  account  for  his  change  of 
name  from  Archum  to  Cambur,  but  had  not  confided  to 
her  the  real  facts  of  his  birthplace  and  parentage.  She 
supposed  him  to  be  living  near,  not  absolutely  in,  his  na- 
tive town. 

Many  things  had  tended  to  prolong  his  stay  in  Shiloh. 
He  had  found  a  curious  charm  in  residing  among  the  scenes 
and  companions  of  his  boyhood,  as  a  stranger  ;  sometimes  . 
listening  to  his  own  story,  and  the  varied  commentary  it 
provoked.  He  had  not  been  able  to  decide  whether  his 
father  really  wished  for  his  return,  while  he  had  been 
pained  to  discover  "that  his  mother  was  not  the  mother  of 
his  memories  and  his  dreams.  All  the  sweet  bloom  and  foli- 
age of  her  character  seemed  to  have  .been  blighted  and 
stripped  oft*  by  some  sharp  frost-touch,  leaving  but  a  hard, 
bare,  gray,  and  unattractive  outline.  Nor  did  he  at  once 
understand  that  this  was  the  result  of  his  own  sudden 
flight  and  the  long  anguish,  anxiety  and  suspense  follow- 
ing it ;  aggravated  by  Major  Burcham's  stern  interdiction 


430  SHILOII. 

of  any  future  mention  of  his  name,  which  had  compelled 
her  to  shut  all  her  sorrow  and  care  within  the  depths 
of  her  own  heart.  But,  beginning  dimly  to  discern  this, 
at  last,  he  had  determined  to  make  himself  known  to 
her  on  his  return  from  the  city ;  and  try  whether  joy 
and  assurance  would  not  soften  and  heal  where  grief  and 
suspense  had  hardened  and  irritated.  Sickness — a  surer 
softener,  a  better  reconciler,  than  either — had  anticipated 
him  ! 

Now,  too,  the  history  of  Leo's  night-search  for  Harry 
Burcham  was  made  known  by  the  mouth  of  four  witnesses. 

Mrs.  Baird  (with  whom  the  artist  boarded)  stated  that 
Leo  scratched  at  her  door  at  nine  o'clock,  on  that  Satur- 
day evening ;  that  she  admitted  him ;  that  lie  rushed 
straightway  up  to  the  studio,  and  there  scratched  and 
whined  until  she  opened  that  door  to  him,  also,  and  satis- 
fied him  that  the  room  was  empty  ;  whereupon,  he  rushed 
out  again,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

Mrs.  Danforth's  statement  ran  thus: 

"  I  was  in  the  sitting-room  with  the  children,  when  Leo 
marched  in,  all  dripping,  through  the  long  window  that 
opens  on  the  veranda.  Seeing  a  roll  of  something  in  his 
mouth,  and  knowing  that  you  are  in  the  habit  of  using 
him  as  a  telegraph,  a  mail-carrier,  an  express-wagon,  and 
every  sort  of  go-all,  fetch-all,  and  carry-all,  I  took  it  for 
granted  that  his  errand  was  to  me.  But  he  would  not  suf- 
fer me  to  touch  the  roll ;  when  I  insisted,  he  growled, — 
not  a  musical  nor  a  reassuring  sound,  by  any  means  !  So 
I  suffered  him  to  take  his  own  course.  •  He  raced  around 
the  room,  smelt  the  chairs  and  the  carpet,  looked  disgusted, 
put  his  head  on  one  side,  seemed  to  ask  himself,  '  What  shall 
I  do  next  ?'  and  departed  just  as  he  had  come." 

The  depot-master  testified  that  "  Mr.  Divine's  big  New- 
foundland came  into  the  depot,  that  night,  just  as  I  was 
beginning  to  shut  up  ;  smelt  round  a  little,  and  went  out 
at  the  back  door,  about  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  after  Mr. 


SHILOH.  431 

Cambur — I  mean,  Mr.  Burcham — went  out  the  same  way, 
with  Squire  Delbyn.  I  noticed  that  he  went  with  his  nose 
to  the  ground,  as  if  he  was  following  a  trail." 

Harry  furnished  the  sequel,  in  telling  his  own  story,  as 
follows : — 

"The  cars  were  late;  we  arrived  in  the  midst  of  the 
thunder-storm.  There  were  no  teams  at  the  depot,  nothing 
but  a  drenched  horse  and  buggy  belonging  to  Mr.  Delbyn, 
who  was  a  fellow-passenger  on  the  train.  We  waited  until  it 
was  plain  that  the  storm  was  settling  into  a  steady,  heavy 
rain,  likely  to  last  through  the  night ;  then,  Mr.  Delbyn  said 
to  me, '  You  won't  get  any  chance  to  ride  to  Shiloh,  to-night, 
and  you  certainly  won't  foot  it  over,  in  this  storm ;  besides, 
it  is  so  dark  you  can't  see  your  hand  before  your  face.  Get 
into  my  buggy  and  go  home  with  me ;  in  the  morning  I'll 
take  or  send  you  over  to  Shiloh,  with  pleasure.'  The  offer 
was  too  seasonable  a  one  to  be  refused.  We  started  ;  but 
ran  into  a  tree  in  tvirning  the  first  corner — I  never  saw  so 
dark  a  night !  Mr.  Delbyn  got- out,  to  extricate  the  wheel, 
and  feel  his  way  back  to  the  road, — for  he  could  not  see  it. 
At  the  same  moment  a  heavy  body  plunged  into  the  buggy, 
and  Leo  thrust  his  nose  and  your  tablets  into  my  hand !  I 
suspected  some  calamity  at  once.  Mr.  Delbyn,  being  a 
smoker,  was  provided  with  matches ;  I  lighted  one  under 
my  hat,  and  made  out  to  read  what  you  had  written.  He 
now  insisted  upon  taking  me  over  to  Shiloh ;  so  we  turned 
about,  and  took  a  fresh  start  in  that  direction,  creeping 
along  at  a  snail's  pace,  and  almost  literally  feeling  the  road. 
Just  beyond  Clay  Corner,  we  ran  into  the  fence.  Here,  I 
made  up  my  mind  that,  under  the  circumstances,  pedes- 
trianism  was  to  be  preferred  to  wheeling.  So  I  got  out, 
thanked  my  kind  friend,  turned  his  horse's  head  in  the 
direction  of  his  home,  bade  him  good-night,  and  plodded 
on  with  Leo.  At  first,  I  was  continually  getting  out  of  the 
road,  into  th»-  ditch,  or  among  the  bushes  and  stones ;  the 
dog  was  wholly  invisible,  his  blackness  blended  indistin- 


4C2  8HLLOH. 

guishably  with  the  pitchy  darkness  of  the  night.  Finally, 
I  bethought  myself  to  fasten  my  handkerchief  into  his  collar, 
and  the  dim  white  spot  guided  me  surely,  and  even  swiftly, 
to  my  fathei*'s  door." 

"  But  how,"  said  I,  "  could  Leo  have  divined  that  you 
were  in  Mr.  Delbyn's  wagon  ?  " 

"  Probably  he  heard  the  sound  of  the  wheels,  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  reasoned  that  it  was  worth  while  to  follow  them, 
not  knowing  what  else  to  do.  Or  he  may  have  caught  the 
sound  of  our  voices ;  his  ears  ai-e  quick,  and  that  corner 
where  we  first  came  to  grief,  is  not  far  from  the  depot. 
Faithful,  sagacious  fellow !  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Divine  would 
let  me  have  him,  now ! — I  would  give  him  anything  he 
chooses  to  ask." 

"  I  think  not.  You  know  Leo  once  saved  Mr.  Divine's 
life.  He  would  sell  half  his  farm  before  he  would  consent 
to  part  with  him." 

"  I  am  afraid  so,"  returned  Harry,  with  a  sigh.  "  But 
you  have  not  yet  told  me  how  you  found  me  out ! " 

"  Leo  is,  responsible  for  that,  too.  Do  you  remember 
the  day  he  caught  you  sketching  us,  in  the  glen  ?  I  was 
then  perfectly  well  satisfied  that  you  and  he  were  old  ac- 
quaintances, although  you  chose  to  ignore  it.  And  wnen  I 
learned  that  Major  Burcham  had  a  runaway  son, — an  artist, 
-  and  Leo's  first  master, — the  chain  of  evidence  was  complete, 
and  the  point  whither  it  tended,  manifest." 

"I  wonder,  sometimes,"  said  the  artist,  thoughtfully, 
"whether  my  life  would  not  have  been  better,  happier, 
nobler,  even,  if  I  had 'stayed  at  home,  done  my  father's 
will,  and  made  my  mother  happy !  Might  I  not  look  back 
upon  it  with  more  satisfaction  ?  " 

"  You  surely  do  not  regret  giving  your  life  to  Art?" 

"  No,  only  the  manner  of  doing  it.    I  seem  to  see  that  it    , 
would  have  been  better  to  wait  for  God,  who  gave  the 
talent,  to  open  a  lawful  road  to  its  exercise.     Besides,  Art 
does  not  mean,  to  me,  all  that  it  did  once.     I  thought  it 


8HILOH.  433 

the  regenerator,  I  find  it  is  but  the  refiner  and  polisher,  of 
mankind.  And  a  great  deal  of  outward  fineness  and  finish 
may  co-exist  with  inward  foulness  and  turpitude.  Those 
Avonderful,  mutilated  fragments  of  Greek  sculpture,  which 
no  modern  art  can  rival,  were  wrought  in  days  of  such 
social  depravity  as  is  almost  unmentionable,  in  our  times. 
I  have  long  since  been  convinced  of  the  utter  futility  of 
that  gospel  of  beauty,  which  so  many  preach,  at  the  pres- 
ent day,  and  upon  which  so  many  others  rest  their  hopes 
for  the  regeneration  of  mankind !  Art,  alone,  is  impotent 
to  that  end!  Only  the  Gospel  of  Christ  can  purify  the 
heart  and  ennoble  the  character.  But,  as  soon  as  we  admit 
that,  a  new  standard  of  life  rises  before  us.  We  see  that  it 
is  not  so  much  its  outward  form  and  object,  as  its  spirit, 
which  makes  it  beautiful  and  noble.  I  seem  to  catch, 
dimly,  glimpses  of  a  life  of  obedience,  patience,  humility, 
self-sacrifice, — of  outward  narrowness,  even, — lived  here  in 
Shiloh ;  which,  in  its  spirit  and  aim,  would  be  loftier  and 
lovelier  than  any  artist's  life  in  Rome.  Ah !  if  I  had  only 
been  strong  enough,  and  patient  enough,  and  noble  enough, 
to  have  lived  it ! " 

"  Go  back  to  your  studio,"  said  I,  "  and  paint  the  "Wise 
Virgin !  I  am  sure  you  can  do  it,  now !  And  so  painted, 
it  will  serve  to  show  that  if  Art,  of  herself,  cannot  purify 
the  heart  nor  ennoble  the  life,  she  may  be  one  of  God's 
blessed  instruments  for  doing  both." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  his  face  lighting  up 
with  all  an  artist's  fire  and  fervor  — "  do  you  really  think 
so?" 

19 


XLI. 

THE    EMPTY    CHAIE. 

LL  this  time,  the  fever  spread.  It  was  creat- 
ing something  like  a  panic,  in  Shiloh. 
Many  persons  avoided  the  houses  where 
it  had  entered.  "Watchers  were  hard  to  find. 
Aunt  Vin's  good  offices  were  in  constant 
demand,  either  for  the  sick  or  the  dead.  She 
gave  them  freely ;  yet  she  was  looking  much 
Avorn.  Alice,  Ruth,  and  I,  constituted  our- 
selves her  corps  of  assistants,  and  helped  her  as  we  could. 
But  there  was  work  enough  for  all, — it  grew  continually 
on  our  hands. 

Coming  home  after  a  morning  spent  with  one  of  the 
sick  ones,  I  noticed  Uncle  True  at  the  woodpile,  leaning  his 
head  on  his  hand,  in  an  attitude  of  weariness  unusual  to 
him. 

"  "Wall,  I  don't  feel  reel  smart,"  said  he,  in  answer  to 
my  hurried  inquiry  if  anything  was  amiss.  "There's  a 
singin'  in  my  head  that  ain't  birds  ;  and  once  in  a  while  the 
woodpile  trots  round  me  like  a  horse  round  a  cider-press. 
I  hope  it's  agrindin'  out  suthin'  that's  worth  while  !  Some 
on  us  takes  lots  o'  grin  din'  before  the  reel  good  juice  gits 
squoze  out,  ready  to  be  cleared  by  the  blood  o'  Christ  and 
stored  in  the  kingdom  o'  God.  They  used  to  clear  wine 
with  blood,  sometimes,  ye  know.  I  guess  it  had  a  meanin', 
most  things  do  have,  if  you  only  know  how  to  find  it." 

I  took  his  hand.  The  quick  pulse,  the  dry,  hot  touch, — 
I  was  getting  to  understand  these  symptoms  only  too  well ! 


SHILOH.  435 

"Is't  the  fever?"  he  asked,  simply. 

No  need  to  deceive  the  good  old  man,  with  his  guile- 
less, trustful  face, — so  childlike  through  all  its  wrinkles ! 
"  I  am  afraid  it  is,"  I  answered,  gravely. 

"  I  kinder  thought  so.  You  see  that  holler  in  Hart's 
rock,  thar,  's  run  dry  this  two  days.  And  though  I  ain't 
superstitious,  I  know  the  Lord  made  the  rock,  and  takes 
count  o'  the  water,  and  He  might  mean  it  marcifully  as  a 
hint  to  me  that  my  spring  o'  life's  arunnin'  dry,  too,  with- 
out goin'  out  o'  His  way,  partic'larly,  to  do  it.  I've  allers 
found  His  ways  and  works  full  o'  signs  for  my  good  or  my 
comfort,  when  I  looked  arter  'em.  This  woodpile,  now,  it's 
pooty  considerable  of  a  world  itself.  It's  got  crooked  sticks 
and  straight  uns,  little  uns  and  big  uns,  green  uns  and  dry 
uns,  sound  uns  and  holler  uns,  hard  uns  and  soft  uns.  And 
they  all  have  to  take  their  turn  in  the  fire  of  affliction. 
But  see  how  different  they  act  thar !  Some  on  'em  begin 
to  give  out  light  and  heat  right  off;  it  does  you  good  to 
see  'em  burn,  they  take  it  so  cheerful  like,  as  if  they  meant 
to  find  out  the  good  in  it;  but  there's  others  that  does 
nothin'  but  fizzle  an'  sizzle,  an'  sug  an'  smoke,  an'  try  not 
to  stay  put, — you  may  poke  'em  an'  stir  'em  an'  turn  'em 
over,  jest  as  much  as  you  like,  but  you  can't  coax  a  good 
blaze  an'  a  revivin'  wannth  out  on  'em,  an'  do  yer  best ! 
Howsomever,  they  all  go  to  ashes,  at  the  last." 

"  Is  not  that  rather  a  sad  conclusion  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  a  mite  of  it.  We  don't  throw  away  our  ashes, 
you  know; — they're  good  for  manure,  or  -lye,  or  suthin'. 
And  the  Lord  don't  throw  away  His'n,  no  more,  I  guess. 
They're  safe  enough  in  His  hands."  Then  he  took  up  the 
axe,  and  drew  his  finger  lightly  along  its  edge.  "  I'm  glad 
I  give  it  a  good  grindin'  up  yisterday,"  said  he.  "  I  allers 
like  to  leave  my  tools  in  good  order.  It's  tryin'  to  human 
natur  to  have  to  stop  and  sharpen  up  tools  that  somebody 
else  has  dulled,  before  you  can  go  to  work  yourself.  Many 


4:36  8HILOH. 

a  good  mind  for  work's   been   sp'iled  that  way.     Wall, 
p'raps  I'd  better  be  agittin'  into  the  house,  while  I  can." 

At  the  gate,  he  paused  and  looked  round  on  the  familial- 
landscape,  rich  with  its  autumnal  glory. 

"  It's  a  pooty  world,"  said  he,  "  and  a  good  world,  for 
the  Lord  made  it.  And,  seems  to  me,  it  never  looked 
pootier  than  it  does  now.  But  I  guess  'taint  the  best  He 
can  turn  out.  And  His  will  be  done  !  " 

And  thus  Uncle  True  quitted  the  scene  of  his  active 
labors. 

The  fever  wrought  very  gently  with  him.  He  was  not 
tortured  with  thirst  nor  pain ;  much  of  the  time  he  slept 
quietly,  or  lay  in  a  kind  of  misty  stupor  that  had  the 
appearance  of  sleep.  Six  days  of  care  and  watching,  on 
our  part ;  six  days  of  patient  waiting  upon  the  Lord,  on 
his  ;  and  the  watching  and  the  waiting  were  both  over.  / 

The  morning  before  he  died,  he  said  to  me,  while  his 
eyes  rested  lovingly  on  his  old  arm-chair,  the  faithful  com- 
panion of  so  many  years,  now  standing  empty  by  his  bed, — 
"  You  wouldn't  think  it,  would  ye,  now,  Miss  Frost  ?  but 
that  old  chair  thar's  been  the  greatest  blessin'  the  Lord 
ever  give  me.  I  had  suthin'  of  a  wild  turn  in  my  young 
days,  and  if  He  hadn't  fust  thrown  me  out  of  a  wagon, 
and  then  sot  me  down  in  that  chair  for  the  rest  o'  my  life, 
thar's  no  tellin'  how  swift  to  do  evil  my  feet  might  have 
got  to  be !  That  chair's  been  the  Hand  o'  Providence  res- . 
trainin'  me,  and  the  Everlastin'  Arms  round  me,  all  my 
days,  though  I- never  see  it  quite  so  clear  afore.  If  you've 
got  any  cross  to  bear — and  sometimes  I've  kinder  suspected 
you  had,  though  »you've  allers  done  your  best  to  show 
a  bright  face  and  not  shadder  other  folks  with  your 
troubles ; — but  if  you've  got  any,  take  my  word  for't,  the 
time'll  come  when  you'll  thank  the  Lord  more  for  that 
cross  than  for  all  the  pleasant  things  that  ever  He  poured 
into  your  bosom." 

Shortly  after,  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.     "  I  feel  as 


SHILOH.  437 

if  I  could  sleep  a  little,"  said  he.  "  Sleep's  about  as  good  a 
thing  as  the  Lord  gives  us,  I  reckon ;  it  comes  reel  refreshin' 
at  the  end  of  a  hard  day's  work,  or  onto  a  bed  of  sickness. 
Some  think  it's  a  type  o'  death.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
'twas, — one  ain't  to  be  dreaded  no  more'n  tother,  I  reckon, 
by  them  that  love  the  Lord." 

None  of  us  could  tell  when  the  type  became  the  reality. 
We  only  knew  that  the  waking  was  beyond  our  sight,  past 
the  shadow  wherein  man  walketh  and  disquieteth  himself 
in  vain,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  eternal  shore. 

For  the  sake  of  convenience,  on  the  morning  of  the  fun- 
eral, Uncle  True's  chair  was  restored  to  its  wonted,  out-of- 
the-way  corner  of  the  kitchen  fireplace,  and  there  it  stands 
still.  Through  the  day  it  tells  its  quiet  story  of  a  humble 
life  well  lived,  a  humble  cross  cheerfully  borne,  a  humble 
spirit  divinely  nurtured  into  rare  beauty  of  holiness  and 
dignity  of  faith  ;  and  at  evening  time,  seen  through  the 
dancing  firelight,  by  eyes  dim  with  a  slow-gathering  mois- 
ture (that  seldom  falls  in  a  tear),  it  becomes  a  dazzling, 
iridescent  throne,  fit  to  stand  by  the  Crystal  River,  under 
the  boughs  of  the  Tree  of  Life.  Over  it  Bona,  Mala,  and 
I,  have  many  subdued  talks.  Of  the  latest  of  these,  being 
yet  fresh  in  my  memory,  I  give  a  brief  report. 

I  had  been  thinking  not  only  of  Uncle  True's  sweet, 
mellow,  genial  character,  and  of  the  wisdom  unto  salvation 
whereof  he  had  gathered  such  rich  store ;  but  of  the  seem- 
ingly infertile  soil  of  infirmity  and  bachelorhood  but  of 
which  these  had  bloomed.  So  far  as  I  could  learn,  Uncle 
True  had  never  known  love — human  love,  par  excellence^ 
that  is — neither  in  its  joy,  nor  in  its  sorrow.  Yet  who, — 
looking  at  the  first  and  highest  end  of  our  earthly  existence, 
namely,  the  developing  and  training  of  the  germ  of  im- 
mortal life  within  us  until  it  is  fit  for  transplantation  into 
the  King's  Garden, — which  end  being  gained,  all  other 
losses  may  count  for  nothing,  and  which  being  lost,  all 
other  successes  are  worse  than  failures ; — who,  looking  at 


438  SHILOH. 

these  things,  would  dare  to  call  Uncle  True's  life  incom- 
plete ?  And  so  I  began  the  talk  by  asking  myself: 

"  Have  the  poets  all  been  wrong,  then,  in  singing  human 
love  as  the  sweetest,  the  richest,  and  the  most  ennobling 
thing  in  human  life  ?  " 

MALA.  Assuredly  not.  Look  at  the  great  and  glorious 
deeds  whereof  it  has  been  the  inspiration ! — at  the  courage, 
the  patience,  the  fortitude,  the  self-sacrifice,  the  constancy, 
the  heroism  which  it  has  brought  forth  !  What  grand  na- 
tures it  has  helped  to  enlarge  and  enrich !  what  lovely  ones 
to  beautify  and  refine ! 

BONA.  A  fair  picture,  and  not  without  a  certain  truth. 
But  it  has  black  shadows, — be  mine  the  painful  task  to 
point  them  out !  Look  at  the  sinful  and  shameful  acts  of 
which  Love  is  often  the  motive, — the  deceit,  treachery,  vice, 
degradation,  misery,  remorse,  and  despair,  of  which  it  is  the 
too  prolific  parent.  What  gifted  minds  it  has  helped  to 
drag  down  to  the  dust !  what  gentle  hearts  it  has  soured, 
withered,  or  hardened !  No,  no !  Human  Love,  though  it 
may  sweeten  human  life  more  than  anything  else,  if  its 
course  do  but  run  tolerably  smooth,  does  not  necessarily 
ennoble,  nor  unqualifiedly  enrich,  it.  If  it  is  entire,  absorb- 
ing, satisfying,  it  tends  to  narrowness  of  aims  and  sympa- 
thies, and  so  to  poverty  of  life  and  experience ;  if  it  is  not, 
it  provokes  doubt,  jealousy,  anger,  and  discontent,  on  the 
one  hand,  and  on  the  other,  leaves  the  way  open  for  trifling, 
falsehood,  duplicity,  and  a  gradual  searing  of  heart  and 
conscience,  likely  to  end  in  actual  crime.  Crossed  or  dis- 
appointed, its  only  natural  fruit  is  sorrow.  In  its  unhal- 
lowed, illicit  form,  no  need  to  say  how  surely  it  tends  to 
infamy  and  ruin ! 

MALA.  Do  you  pretend  to  deny  that  Love  has  arrested 
many  a  youth's  depraved  and  downward  course,  and  lifted 
it  up  to  purer  air  ? 

BONA.  Not  at  all ;  no  more  than  you  will  deny  that  it 
has  hindered,  6r  turned  aside  and  befouled,  many  another 


8HILOH.  439 

that  was  struggling  up  toward  righteousness.  But  let  us 
not  forget  that,  in  both  these  cases,  Love  was  less  a  con- 
trolling power  than  a  mighty  lever,  either  in  the  hands  of 
the  Spirit  of  Evil  or  the  Spirit  of  Good.  Satan  tries  all  in- 
struments to  work  out  his  evil  purposes ;  God  blesses  many 
means  to  His  wise  ends.  Often  He  gives  us  Divine  help 
through  human  hands.  Graciously  He  orders  or  permits 
that  an  earthly  love  shall  illume  or  direct  the  first  step  or 
two  in  the  heavenward  path,  while  the  heart  is  still  far 
from  Him  and  the  ear  deaf  to  His  call ;  but  if  the  pilgrim 
do  not  soon  learn  to  look  to  a  purer  and  more  steadfast 
light,  and  to  depend  upon  a  higher  and  safer  guidance,  he 
will  never  get  far  on  the  heavenly  road.  Left  to  the  nat- 
ural impulses  of  the  natural  heart,  Love  becomes  but  a 
blind  leader  of  the  blind,  and  it  is  by  God's  mercy  alone 
that  both  do  not  fall  into  the  ditch. 

I.  The  drift  of  all  which  appears  to  be  that  Love  par- 
takes of  the  nature  of  the  soil  from  whence  it  springs : — 
from  a  pure  heart,  a  pure  sentiment ;  from  a  vicious  heart, 
a  vile  one. 

BONA.  And  a  pure  heart  is — from  whence  ? 

I.  From  the  grace  of  God,  duly  sought  in  prayer,  and 
faithfully  applied  in  thought  and  act. 

BONA.  It  follows,  then,  you  see,  that  God's  grace  is  the 
true  inspiration,  the  original  cause,  of  whatever,  is  really 
noble,  pure,  lovely,  and  of  good  report,  in  human  love  ! 

MALA  (insidiously).  Do  you  not  see  that  she  wholly 
ignores  all  the  good,  great,  generous,  beneficent  deeds 
done  in  the  name  and  service  of  Love  by  men  who  never 
thought,  nor  cared,  to  seek  God's  grace  ? 

BOKA.  Take  care  that  your  eyes  are  not  dazzled  by 
worldly  glory,  neither  suffer  yourself  to  confound  worldly 
honor  with  the  Divine  blessing.  No  deed  can  rightly  be 
called  good,  except  it  spring  from  an  earnest  desire  to  do 
God's  will  and  a  loving  regard  for  the  honor  of  His 
name, — no  matter  how  wisely  and  well  He  may  overrule 


440  SHILOH. 

its  'results  to  the  good  of  mankind  and  His  own  glory. 
Nor  must  we  forget  how  strong  an  indirect  influence  re- 
ligion exerts  upon  unrenewed  hearts.  Little  does  a  man  of 
the  world  realize  that  what  he  proudly  calls  his  "  honor," 
is  but  the  shadow  of  the  fairer  form  of  Christian  virtue ; 
and  that  his  integrity,  benevolence,  temperance,  and  what- 
ever is  comprehended  under  the  head  .of  morality,  have  their 
deep  root  in  the  Divine  law  that  thundered  from  Sinai,  and 
draw  their  unseen  nourishment  from  the  gentle  precepts 
that  dropped  from  the  lips  of  Christ !  And  even  so,  human 
love  continually — perhaps  unconsciously — touches  the  hem 
of  her  divine  sister's  robe,  and  is  insensibly  penetrated  and 
purified  by  her  virtue.  Without  this  involuntary  borrow- 
ing, this  unacknowledged  help,  how  inevitably  would  she 
go  astray,  how  often  would  she  perish ! 

I  (rather  sadly).  And  so  Art  and  Song  and  Poetry  have 
all  gone  wrong,  in  their  long  apotheosis  of  human  Love ! 
In  lavishing  upon  it  their  brightest  colors,  tenderest  mel- 
odies, and  sweetest  numbers,  they  have  insensibly  led  to 
an  undue  magnifying  of  its  importance  and  an  over  esti- 
mate of  its  power  ! 

BONA.  "Would  it  hurt  you  much  if  I  were  to  say,  yes  ? 
Alas !  Art,  Poetry,  and  Song,  are  too  much  of  the  earth, 
earthy  ;  their  immortal  spirit  is  hampered  by  a  mortal 
body,  or  misread  by  mortal  interpreters.  Servants  of 
earthly  Beauty,  and  lovers  of  earthly  Love,  artists  and 
poets  and  musicians  forget  that  no  heart  was  ever  regener- 
ated by  the  one,  no  soul  ever  saved  by  the  other  !  They 
forget,  too,  that  all  of  their  work  which  cannot  be  made 
to  subserve  these  vital  ends,  is  worthless,  and  must  utterly 
perish ! 

I  looked  grave,  perhaps  sorrowful.  For  a  moment,  I 
was  in  doubt  how  many  of  the  sweet  creations  of  genius 
would  stand  this  test.  But,  after  a  swift,  timid  glance 
sent  round  the  world  of  imagination,  I  took  courage.  Few 
of  the  characters  which  one  would  really  sorrow  to  miss 


SHILOH.  441 

from  that  fair  land,  but  shine  with  some  soft  reflection  of 
heavenly  virtue,  or  walk  in  the  strength  and  serenity  of  a 
divine  faith.  Even  that  genius, which,  in  its  life  and  creed, 
violates  every  principle  of  religion — sets  at  naught  its  pre- 
cepts and  denies  its  power — is  forced,  in  its  works,  to  pay 
reluctant  homage  to  the  beauty  of  holiness,  and  to  irradi- 
ate its  creations  with  the  light  of  Divine  truth. 

Seeing  this  point  established  in  my  mind  beyond  her 
power  to  shake  it,  Mala  suddenly  recurred  to  that  at  which 
the  talk  began.  "  Still,"  said  she,  "  we  must  admit — the 
experience  of  the  whole  world  goes  to  prove  it — that  nothing 
develops  the  higher  nature  like  Love,  that  it  as  essential 
to  life's  completeness,  as  it  unquestionably  is  to  its  hap- 
piness." 

BOXA.  We  must  admit  nothing  that  arraigns  God's 
providence,  nothing  that  questions  His  wisdom  or  His 
goodness.  There  are  lives  into  which  love  never  enters  (in 
the  shape  under  consideration),  yet  we  may  safely  believe 
that  God  withholds  from  no  soul  anything  essential  to  its 
preparation  for  a  future  state  of  being.  If  you  find  Love 
in  your  path, — either  its  sunshine  or  its  gloom, — you  may 
fairly  infer  that  it  is  'meant  to  you  for  good,  that  it  is 
a  part  of  that  mysterious  process,  by  which  time  educates 
for  eternity,  an  instrument  which,  if  used  aright,  will  do 
you  good  service  in  shaping  your  course  for  heaven.  But 
if  you  find  it  not,  you  may  rest  assured  that  to  you  it 
would  have  been  a  hindrance  and  a  snare,  and  you  can 
work  out  your  salvation  more  surely  and  safely  without  it. 
Be  not  deceived  by  that  plausible  word,  "  completeness." 
Human  life,  being  what  it  is, — a  means,  a  seedtime,  a  pro- 
bation, looking  to  a  future  state  for  its  end,  its  harvest,  its 
entering  into  possession, — is,  and  must  be,  from  its  very 
nature,  incomplete.  No  estimate  of  it,  that  takes  not 
eternity  into  the  account,  is  worth  anything.  But  with  that 
important  addition,  how  quickly  the  balances  change ! 
What  seems  most  incomplete  here,  may  there  round  out 
10* 


442  SHILOH. 

into  the  fulness  of  orbed  perfection.  The  life  that  was 
lived  without  love — technically  so  called — may  be  found  to 
have  been  fullest  of  that  divine  Charity,  who  holds  both  the 
life  that  now  is  and  that  which  is  to  come  in  her  sof^  em- 
brace,— greatest  of  "  these  three,"  in  their  abiding  upon 
earth,  and  sole  survivor  of  them  in  the  ages  of  endless 
fruition  and  perfect  knowing  !  The  point  which  I  wish  to 
impress  upon  you  being,  that  all  material  which  God  gives 
us, — not  love,  nor  talents,  nor  influence,  nor  successes 
alone, — but  all  things,  losses,  failures,  hindrances,  disap- 
pointments, impoverishments,  may  be  so  wrought  into  our 
life-temple  by  patient  labor  and  fervent  faith,  that  the  com- 
pleted structure  shall  show  no  deficiency,  no  incongruity, 
no  want  of  fair  proportion  and  costly  adornment ;  but  every 
stone  shall  seem  chosen  and  fitted  for  its  place ;  and  all 
shall  be  polished  into  the  similitude  of  that  diviner  temple 
"  eternal  in  the  heavens."  Human  love  may  be  one  of  its 
carved  and  gilded  capitals  ;  or  a  lofty,  illuminated  arch  ;  or 
a  great,  rich  glory  of  an  altar-window,  many  hued,  and 
crowded  with  luminous  blazonry  of  sacred  symbolism  ;  or 
only  a  blood-incrusted,  ebony  cross  ;  or  its  absence  may 
make  room  for  a  more  minute  and  delicate  finish  of  all  the 
parts,  a  softer,  chaster,  more  mellow  and  harmonious  diffu- 
sion and  exquisiteness  of  beauty  ! 

And  yet  there  is  a  certain  sense  in  which  Love  is  an  ef- 
ficient element  of  moral  training  ;  everywhere  felt,  but 
dimly  discerned,  and  therefore  vaguely  expressed.  But 
that  efficiency  grows  out  of  its  infirmity,  its  faithlessness,  its 
earthliness, — the  very  qualities,  you  observe,  which  most 
surely  detract  from  the  sum  of  human  happiness,  and 
which  each  one  most  earnestly  deprecates,  in  his  own 
experience.  Yet,  like  our  Lord,  we  must  needs  be  made 
perfect  through  suffering.  And  to  most  hearts  no  suf- 
fering like  that  which  comes  from  the  affections  ! — none 
penetrates  so  deep,  nor  rankles  so  long,  nor  is  so  little  sus- 
ceptible of  earthly  consolation.  But,  in  the  black  depths. 


SHILOH.  443 

of  that  bitterest  of  sorrows,  the  soul  often  finds  the  pearl 
of  divine  love,  and  struggles  up  with  it  to  the  fair  shore  of 
Peace.  Out  of  the  loneliness  of  bereavement  or  desertion 
is  first  born  that  deep,  tender,  spiritual  yearning  for  the 
visible  presence  of  its  Lord — "  My  soul  thirsteth  for  Thee, 
my  flesh  also  longeth  after  Thee,  in  a  barren  and  dry  land, 
where  no  water  is  ! "  And  thus  we  reap  a  richer  harvest 
from  Love's  losses  than  ever  we  could  have  gathered  in 
from  its  increase.  Out  of  its  barrenness,  or  its  ashes,  its 
divine  sister  rises  winged,  and  we  are  alone  no  more 
forever ! 

All  this — and  much  more — said  Bong,  softly  to  me  over 
Uncle  True's  empty  chair,  from  which  Mala  had  flown  dis- 
comfited. A  wonderful  touchstone  is  it  by  which  to  try 
earthly  experiences  and  possessions.  Worldly  balances  un- 
dergo strange  transformations  in  its  light ;  debt  and  credit, 
profit  and  loss,  change  places.  And  daily  it  recalls  and 
points  the  good  old  man's  last  comfortable  assurance, 
"  Take  my  word  for't,  Miss  Frost,  the  time'll  come  when 
you'll  thank  the  Lord  more  for  that  cross  than  for  all  the 
pleasant  things  that  ever  He  poured  into  your  bosom." 

And  sometimes,  Francesca,  it  seems  to  me  that  that 
tune,  if  not  yet  come,  is  swiftly  coming — is  near  at  hand. 

So  near,  at  least,  that  I  can  now  bear  to  set  down  how 
the  cross  came  and  of  what  material  it  was  wrought,  Now, 
you  shall  know  all  the  strange,  sad  story  of  the  two  months 
that  intervened  between  that  joy-cry  sent  you  from  the 
fulness  of  a  happy  heart,  "  Paul  has  told  me  that  he  loves 
me ;  count  us  one  forevermore  !  "  and  that  brief,  bitter  sen- 
tence, wrung  from  the  depths  of  a  crushed,  exhausted  spirit, 
"  Paul  and  I  are  two ;  never  mention  his  name  to  me 
again ! " 


XLII. 

THE   TREACHEROUS   FLOWER. 

|EYER  till  now,  Francesca,  could  I  have  borne 
to  rake  out  and  sift  these  ashes  of  my  heart ; 
thank  you  for  awaiting  the  process  so  patient- 
ly. It  is  not  every  friend  that  knows  how  to  be 
at  once  sympathetic  and  silent,  tender  without 
exaction,  and  interested  without  inquisitiveness. 
But  first,  how  the  love  was  told ;  for  that  is 
essential  to  a  clear  understanding  of  the  rest. 
It  so  happened  that  we  were  all  in  the  drawing-room, 
on  that  March  morning — Flora;  Sylvia  Gay,  a  friend  of  hers ; 
Marcia  Bodley,  a  friend  of  mine  ;  Winnie  Frost,  a  friend  of 
yours — when  Paul  was  shown  in.  It  chanced,  too,  that  I 
was  sitting  near  the  door,  so  I  heard  him  say  to  the  servant 
in  the  hall,  with  marked  emphasis,  "Miss  Winnie  Frost, 
mind ; "  saw  the  slight  start  of  surprise  and  brief  expres- 
sion of  chagrin  with  which  he  caught  sight  of  our  party ; 
and  felt  my  cheek  flush  with  a  sudden,  shy  consciousness 
of  what  these  things  might  bode.  Recovering  his  equa- 
nimity immediately,  however,  he  drew  a  chair  into  our  cir- 
cle ;  and  Sylvia,  with  her  wonted,  free,  dashing  manner 
toward  gentlemen,  made  him  acquainted  with  the  subject 
in  hand. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,  Mr.  Venner.  I  am  taking  counsel, 
and  '  in  a  multitude,'  and  so  forth,  there  is  wisdom.  The 
uncomfortable  truth  is,  that  I  cannot  afford  a  new  dress  for 
Mrs.  Bizarre's  grand  reception  to-night,  and  there  must  be 


SHILOH.  445 

a  rentree  of  some  one  of  the  stock  in  hand.  I  am  halting 
between  two  opinions — supposing  one  opinion  to  represent 
my  white  moire,  and  the  other,  my  pink  tarlatan.  You 
have  seen  me  in  both — which  are  you  longing  to  behold 
me  in  again  ?  " 

"Miss  Gay  looks  so  well  in  both,  as  to  leave  me  no 
ground  for  a  choice,"  he  returned,  bowing  somewhat  list- 
lessly. "  Nor  is  it  likely  that  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  her  in  either  to-night.  I  am  suddenly  called  to  New 
Orleans,  on  important  business.  I  must  take  the  three 
o'clock  train  in  the  morning,  and  I  have  scant  time,  for  all 
that  must  be  done  beforehand ;  it  was  with  difficulty  that  I 
could  find  a  moment  to  come  and  bid  you  good-bye."  His 
gesture  comprehended  the  party,  but  his  eyes  rested  full 
on  me. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  regrets  and  deprecations  from  the 
three  girls.  Sylvia's  Avere  loudest  and  longest.  "  Prepos- 
terous !"  she  exclaimed,  "  why,  this  is  to  be  the  affair  of  the 
season.  Besides,  you  cannot  do  any  business  this  evening." 

"  There  is  to  be  a  consultation  of  the  firm  at  my  uncle's, 
and  I  must  be  present." 

"And  your  uncle's  is  on  the  same  block  as  the  Bi- 
zarre's.  You  can  certainly  look  in  when  the  consultation 
is  over." 

He  sat  looking  at  her  absently,  meditatively. 

"  Don't  stare  at  me  in  that  Mrs.  Jellyby  fashion,"  she 
went  on,  saucily.  "  Come  back  from  the  left  bank  of  the 
Nile,  and  tell  me  you  will  look  in  at  the  Bizarre's  to-night, 
and  see  how  brilliant  we  all  are." 

"  Well,  possibly  I  may." 

"  Good  !  "  she  returned,  in  excellent  humor  at  the  con- 
cession. "  And  now  for  your  vote  on  the  dress  question, 
don't  think  to  escape  with  a  compliment.  Which  shall  it 
be,  pink  or  white  ?  " 

There  was  the  faintest  possible  curl  of  the  lip,  I  thought, 
accompanying  the  reply.  "  If  I  might  presume  to  recom- 


446  SHILOH. 

mend  either,  it  would  be  the  white  moire,  because — it  is 
going  to  be  a  chilly  night." 

"  How  absurd ! "  laughed  Sylvia.  "  As  if  it  mattered 
in  the  least  what  temperature  is  outside  of  a  crowded  recep- 
tion !  You  see  the  kind  of  criticism  your  tulle  is  to  en- 
counter, Flora."  . 

To  my  unspeakable  amazement,  Paul  suddenly  roused 
to  an  appearance  of  interest  in  the  subject.  Looking  at 
Marcia,  he  said : 

"  And  in  what,  may  I  ask,  is  Miss  Bodley  to  be  beauti- 
ful to-night  ?" 

"In  pink  silk  and  white  roses,"  she  replied,  with  mock 
seriousness.  "  I  hope  they  meet  your  approval." 

"  Entirely,"  with  a  grave  bow.  "  And  Miss  Winnie — 
how  am  I  to  find  her  in  the  crowd  ?  " 

"  By  your  lack  of  any  toilet-data  to  guide  you,"  answer- 
ed I,  quietly,  for  the  tone  of  the  conversation  had  jarred 
upon  me  a  little. 

"  How  disobliging ! "  exclaimed  Sylvia.  "  I  will  tell 
you,  Mr.  Venner ;  she  is  to  wear  blue  silk  and — dignity ! 
Which  becoming  trimming  will  be  visible — and  unmistak- 
able— at  any  distance ! " 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Paul,  gravely ;  "  I  have  now  all  the 
information  I  require."  And  very  soon  he  took  his  leave. 

At  dusk,  a  box  and  a  letter  were  left  at  the  door  for  me. 
In  the  box,  rich,  creamy,  odorous,  saflrona  rosebuds ;  in  the 
letter,  a  man's  love,  strong,  tender,  true — at  least,  I  thought 
so  then ! 

"  If  there  is  any  feeling  in  your  heart  which  answers  to 
mine,"  the  letter  concluded,  "  wear  these  rosebuds  to-night. 
Seeing  them  in  your  hair,  on  your  bosom,  I  shall  under- 
stand— what  it  would  be  very  sweet  to  hear  you  say !  See- 
ing them  not,  I  shall  understand,  not  less  plainly — what  it 
will  be  very  hard  to  bear !  " 

Ah !  Francesca,  how  exquisitely,  girlishly,  exuberantly 
happy  I  was!  Impossible  to  shut  it  all  within  my  own 


SHILOH.  4:47 

heart,  and  hence  that  joyous  postscript  to  you!  Before 
the  night  was  over,  how  gladly  would  I  have  recalled  it ! 

My  toilet  for  the  evening  was  completed,  all  but  the 
rosebuds;  they  should  wait  till  the  last  moment,  that  their 
beauty  and  freshness  might  be  unimpaired.  Meanwhile,  I 
heard  little  Bella  crying  in  the  nursery;  the  child  was 
timid  and  forlorn  in  her  new  nurse's  hands,  and  sorrowful 
for  the  old  one,  lately  discharged.  I  opened  the  door,  and 
she  held  out  her  little  arms  to  me  with  a  piteous  wail  and  a 
look  of  entreaty,  not  to  be  resisted.  My  heart  was  so  full 
of  happiness  that  it  was  most  fit  the  little  one  should  profit 
by  the  overflow,  I  thought — there  was  enough  for  both  of 
us,  and  to  spare ;  so  I  took  her  into  my  room,  and  gave  her 
a  blissful  half-hour  of  stories  and  caresses. 

Then  Aunt  Belle's  maid  knocked  at  the  door,  "  Would 
you  please  step  to  Miss  Flora's  room  a  moment  ?  she  wants 
your  advice  about  her  hair." 

I  opened  the  door  into  the  nursery,  called  hurriedly, 
"  Elise,  come  and  see  to  Bella ! "  and  went.  Twenty  min- 
utes Flora  kept  me,  commenting,  altering,  discussing,  till 
her  coronal  was  arranged  to  her  liking.  "  Thank  you,"  said 
she,  at  length,  "  it  is  quite  right  now.  Go  and  finish  your- 
self;  it  is  nearly  time  for  the  carriage." 

I  entered  my  room,  humming  an  air.  It  was  the  last 
of  my  singing  for  many  days.  On  the  floor  sat  Bella, — by 
her  side  an  upturned  box, — all  around  a  litter  of  creamy 
petals  and  green  leaves.  She  held  up  the  last  fragment  of 
a  rosebud  to  me,  with  a  smile.  At  the  same  time  the  nurse 
entered. 

"Why  did  you  not  come  when  I  called?"  I  asked, 
faintly. 

"  Did  you  call  ?  "  returned  the  woman.  "  I  did  not  hear 
you.  I  just  ran  down  stairs  a  moment.  Shall  I  take  Miss 
Bella  out?" 

The  child  cried,  and  ran  from  her.  Captured  at  last,  she 
was  carried  out,  wailing.  I  sat  quite  still,  cold,  and  silent. 


448  SHILOH. 

The  maid  reappeared.  "  The  carriage  is  waiting,  Miss. 
Mrs.  Frost  begs  you  will  hurry."  She  put  a  shawl  round 
me,  and  I  descended  mechanically. 

In  the  carriage  I  gathered  courage.  Paul  would  misin- 
terpret at  first,  of  course ;  but  it  would  be  easy  to  unde- 
ceive him  as  soon  as  we  spoke  together ;  some  way  for  ex- 
planation must  open.  I  could  not  admit  any  other  conclu- 
sion. 

The  reception — you  know  what  those  things  are  like — 
a  crush  of  silk,  tulle,  and  broadcloth ;  snatches  of  talk, 
snatches  of  music,  snatches  of  supper — I  need  not  describe 
it.  I  moved  through  it  all  like  one  in  a  dream,  a  single 
thought  in  my  heart. 

Midnight  drew  near.  Standing  by  the  mantel,  I  heard 
the  French  clock  strike  the  sombre  hour  in  the  midst  of  the 
gay  scene.  Some  quick  intuition  made  me  look  up.  In  the 
doorway  opposite,  between  two  smiling  faces,  I  saw  an- 
other, so  pale,  so  gloomy,  so  stern,  that  I  scarcely  knew  it 
for  Paul's.  One  moment,  its  sad  reproachful  gaze  met 
mine,  and  it  was  gone ! 

Unconsciously,  I  took  a  step  or  two  toward  the  vacant 
place.  The  crowd  surged  heavily  between,  and  threw  me 
back. 

Half  an  hour  after,  Flora  found  me,  sitting  stonily  in  a 
corner.  "  Why,  how  pale  you  are  ! "  she  said,  in  alarm, 
"  and  you  shiver  like  an  aspen  leaf.  What's  the  matter  ? 
Are  you  ill  ? "  And  she  went  for  Aunt  Belle,  whose  stiff 
satin  soon  rustled  by  my  side.  She  ordered  Uncle  John 
and  the  carriage,  and  sent  me  home  with  a  charitable  hope 
that  I  was  "  not  going  to  be  sick." 

I  was  not  sick.  The  next  morning,  to  be  sure,  I  rose 
with  a  dull  pain  in  head  and  heart ;  but  I  went  about 
much  as  usual,  and  not  particularly  wretched.  Paul  would 
return  in  due  time,  I  thought ;  we  should  meet ;  all  would 
be  made  right.  In  that  conviction,  I  lived  and  breathed. 

Two  months  went  slowly  by.     About  the  middle  of 


SHILOH.  449 

May,  Marcia  Bodley  called.  "  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  Paul  Venner  is  to  be  married  to  a  young  lady 
in  New  Orleans." 

"  Impossible  !  "  burst  from  my  lips. 

"  Indeed,  it  is  not.  Here  is  a  letter  I  received  yester- 
day from  cousin  Hallie.  Seeing  is  believing;  read  that 
paragraph." 

I  read  accordingly:  "Tell  me  what  is  pretty  for  a 
bridesmaid  to  wear ;  I  am  to  stand  with  Adele  Roche.  She 
will  be  married  in  June  to  Mr.  Paul  Venner,  recently  made 
a  partner  in  the  house  of  '  Venner  &  Co.' — you  must  know 
the  New  York  branch.  He  is  a  splendid  fellow,  and  she  is 
as  good  as  she  is  pretty,  which  is  saying  much,"  etc.,  etc. 

I  crept  up  to  my  room,  after  she  had  gone,  and  felt  as  if 
the  foundations  of  the  earth  were  shaking  under  my  feet ! 

I  grew  pale ;  I  grew  thin ;  I  lost  my  appetite  ;  I  forgot 
how  to  smile.  The  doctor  gave  me  a  course  of  "iron," — 
unnecessary  trouble,  so  much  had  already  entered  into  my 
soul !  Finally,  at  his  wit's  end,  he  •  prescribed  country  air, 
change  of  scene,  etc.  And  so  I  came  to  Shiloh,  seeking  a 
"  Place  of  Rest " — rest  from  the  bitterness  of  Paul  Venner's 
memory.  I  have  found  it,  too,  in  "  Shiloh ;  "  but  I  think 
not  now  of  the  quiet  little  hamlet,  so  fair  under  the  dreamy 
autumn  haze,  so  restful,  even  to  sluggishness,  in  its  aspect, 
— oh,  Francesca,  how  could  I  have  missed  so  long  that 
deeper,  sweeter  meaning  of  the  word  which  lends  such 
music  to  Israel's  blessing  of  Judah  !  "  Until  Shiloh  come  " 
into  the  heart,  and  until  the  gathering  of 'its  hopes  and 
affections  be  "  unto  Him ; "  there  is  no  place  of  rest  for  it 
in  the  universe !  But,  with  Him,  entereth  the  fulness  of 
rest  unutterable,  the  soft  ripple  of  peace  "  that  floweth  as  a 
river ! " 

And  now  si  taccia  delpassato.     Here  hath  it  its  decent 
burial,  its  sufficient  epitaph.     It  hath  done  God's  work ; — . 
driving  me  out  of  myself  because  introversion  was  so  intol- 
erable, forcing  me  to  live  in  the  present  and  in  eternity, 
19 


4-50  SHILOH. 

"because  earth's  future  was  so  blank,  it  hath  brought  me 
to  see  wherein  life's  real  value  lies ;  to  taste  the  sweetness 
that  comes,  not  of  the  work  done,  but  of  the  doing  it  unto 
the  Lord.  So,  let  it  rest  in  peace  ! 

In  finishing  this  letter,  I  seem  also  to  have  gotten  to  the 
end  of  all  my  energies.  A  strange  languor,  that  is  half 
weariness  and  half  delicious  peace,  has  hung  about  me  all 
day,  and  grown  with  every  word  I  have  written.  Good 
night ! 


XLIII. 

THE   FINDING   OF  THE  CLUE. 

[Francesco,  to  her  Husband  in  Europe  J\ 

TRUCE  to  domestic  historiography  in  this 
letter.  Content  yourself  in  knowing  that 
the  home- world  revolves  smoothly,  by  sun- 
shine and  starshine.  My  mind  is  too  full  of 
Winnie  and  her  affairs  for  possibility  of  other 
chronicle.  Besides  I  want  to  make  confes- 
sion, and  get  absolution — yours,  the  only 
mortal  remission  I  care  for  ! 
I  have  been  meddling.  I  am  a  would-be  Providence, 
with  a  rankling  fear  of  turning  out  an  evil  geniiis.  Need- 
less to  say  (to  you !)  that  I  have  been  yielding  to  a  head- 
strong impulse,  and  now  begin  to  question  its  right  to 
obedience.  Write  tout  de  suite,  and  pronounce  that  I  have 
done  well,  or  that  I  have  not  done  ill,  and  deliver  me  from 
this  bond  of  fear,  this  gall  of  uncertainty. 

To  afford  you  the  necessary  standpoint  for  your  judg- 
ment, I  enclose  Winnie's  last  letter.  Stop,  precisely  here, 
and  read  it. 

Have  you  done  so  ?  Now  recall  the  fact  that,  next  to 
you,  she  is  the  dearest  thing  I  have  on  earth.  Ere  your 
love  lapped  me  in  incalculable  opulence,  I  counted  myself 
rich  in  hers.  Remember  how  she  stood  by  me,  in  my  trial 
"as  by  fire."  Reflect  what  a  woman  she  is, — strong  of 
mind,  lofty  of  soul,  tender  of  heart.  Then,  knowing  me  as 


452  SHILOH. 

you  do,  to  the  innermost,  you  will  be  able  to  picture  my 
reading  of  it.  How  I  fumed  and  glowered !  How  I  shook 
the  child  Bella,  in  imagination,  till  she  could  not  tell  rose- 
buds from  falling  stars !  What  vindictive  fists  I  doubled 
up  in  Paul  Venner's  face  !  "What  fierce  sarcasms  I  hurled 
at  the  whole  race  of  male  mankind,  and  how  energetically 
I  told  my  toilet-table  that*  I  was  glad  Providence  had  gra- 
ciously interposed  to  prevent  Winnie  from  throwing  her- 
self away  upon  any  one  of  them  !  How,  finally,  when  my 
fury  had  burnt  itself  out,  I  wrapped  her  in  my  faithful 
love,  and  wept  over  her  tears  of  regret  and  pity  and 
despair. 

For  I  had  never  credited  the  rumor  of  Paul  Venner's 
marriage.  My  mind  refused  to  take  iu  the  possibility  that 
a  man,  manly,  who  had  once  found  entrance  into  Winnie's 
great  heart  and  mind,  could  thereafter  endure  a  narrower 
abiding  place!  I  believed  that  the  estrangement,  however 
it  had  grown  up,  belonged  to  the  order  of  things  remedi- 
able.* He  of  the  scythe  and  hour-glass  would  cut  it  up, 
root  and  branch,  in  the  fulness  of  time ;  its  thorny  work 
being  done,  its  bitter-sweet  fruit  borne.  I  would  lend  him 
a  helping  hand  myself,  so  soon  as  home  duties  should  let 
me  out  of  their  grip  long  enough  to  look  Winnie  up,  get  a 
succinct  account  of  the  affair,  and  find  out  where  such  hand 
would  be  in  order.  Meantime,  seeing  how  her  character 
was  getting  its  crowning  grace  of  humility  through  it  all, 
I  managed  to  possess  my  soul  in  a  fuming  patience. 

This  letter  gave  a  death-blow  to  my  hopes  and  plans. 
Paul  Venner  being  married,  what  remained  to  be  done  ? 
Clearly,  nothing  but  to  wish  him  joy,  and  Winnie,  forget- 
fulness.  Lucky  for  him  that  the  "joy"  did  not  depend  on 
the  sincerity  of  my  good  wishes. 

As  for  Winnie,  she  declared  herself  "at  peace."  The 
past  was  not  only  dead,  but  buried.  Neither  ghost  nor 
vision  haunted  her  memory,  to  disturb  or  to  appal.  The 
stream  of  her  love,  dammed  up  from  its  late  channel,  had 


8HILOH.  453 

spread  into  a  broad  lake,  for  the  mirroring  of  heaven  and 
the  refreshment  of  the  people. 

Stuff  and  nonsense !  I  exclaimed,  contemptuously. 
Docs  she  think  to  make  me  believe  that  love — Tier  love — 
can  die  so  easily  ?  Does  she  fancy  I  forget  how  that  vio- 
loncello voice  of  hers  used  to  roll  its  molten  richness  along 
the  last  verse  of  Parthenia's  song, — 

"  And  tell  me  how  love  cometh  ?  " 

"  It  comes — unsought — unsent." 
"  And  tell  me  how  love  goeth  ?  " 

"  That  was  not  love  which  went !  " — 

while  I  held  on  to  my  chair  to  keep  myself  in  the  world  of 
sense ;  to  know,  by  touch,  that  I  was  somewhere,  and  not 
floating  out  on  that  purple  stream  of  melody  to  nowhither ! 

Then  I  knocked  myself  down  with  a  suddenly-grasped 
conviction.  Winnie  was  not  the  sort  of  person  to  consume 
herself  with  love  and  longing  for  another  woman's  husband. 
She  would  tear  such  an  affection  out  of  her  heart,  by  the 
roots  ;  no  matter  how  much  bleeding  flesh  and  fibre  came 
with  it.  And  I ! — I  was  Spartan  enough,  thank  Heaven  !  to 
stand  by  and  encourage  her  in  the  doing  it,  though  every 
wrench  and  every  pang  had  its  double  in  my  own  ! 

/Sans  doute,  she  had  done  this.  Without  human  encour- 
agement; without  other  cry  for  help  than  toward  the  Cross 
on  Mount  Calvary ;  without  visible  shrinking  of  spirit,  or 
quivering  of  flesh.  Silently,  in  the  strength  of  God. 

Now,  the  bloody  work  was  accomplished,  the  sharp 
agony  over.  She  was  healed,  and  "  at  peace." 

•  Why  could  I  not  be  more  thankful  ?  Why  did  I  so 
rebel  against  the  hard  necessity  ?  Because,  knowing  the 
sweetness  and  the  rest  of  happy  wedded  love,  as  I  do, — the 
comfortableness  of  being  cherished  and  taken  care  of, — I 
longed  to  have  Winnie  know  it  also.  I  did  not  want  her 
to  braid  St.  Catharine's  tresses,  though  she  grew  ten  times 
a  saint  in  the  process.  I  wanted  her  life  to  have  bloom  as 


454:  SHILOH. 

well  as  fruit.  Sweet  verdure  of  earth  as  well  as  illimitable 
blue  of  heaven. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  about  it  ?  Nothing.  Only  to 
write  her  a  comfortful  letter, — deep  rather  than  broad  (we 
are  not  the  sort  of  women  to  bedear  and  bedarling  one 
another  much), — tell  her  I  love  and  honor  her  above  all 
other  women ;  and  then — let  her  go  forth  alone  into  her 
starlit  dusk.  That  was  all ! 

'  Lame  and  impotent  conclusion!  It  made  me  frantic 
with  helplessness.  It  oppressed  me  as  with  an  insufficiency 
of  air  to  breathe.  I  longed  for  space,  freedom,  motion.  A 
breezy  walk  on  the  Common  would,  perhaps,  give  me  bet- 
ter heart  to  write.  I  bonneted,  shawled,  and  set  forth. 

I  walked  till  I  was  tired,  yet  found  no  rest.  A  seeming 
paradox,  but  a  simple  truth.  You  will  understand. 

Coming  back  through  Main  Street,  it  occurred  to  me  to 
step  into  Mr.  Watling's  office,  and  ask  for  news  of  Bessie. 
The  business  card  of  "  Venner  &  Co.,  New  Orleans,"  side 
by  side  with  another  of  "  Venner  &  Co.,  New  York,"  was 
nearly  the  first  thing  that  smote  my  gaze.  Glad  that  my 
talk  might  have  an  excuse  for  hovering  around  the  engross- 
ing subject  of  my  thought,  however  remotely,  I  inquired  if 
he  knew  the  Venners,  personally  ? 

"Certainly, — all  of  them,  more  or  less,"  said  he.  "I 
know  Mr.  Amos  Venner,  head  of  the  New  Orleans  house, 
tolerably  well.  And  Hugh  Venner,  late  head  of  the  New 
York  firm,  was  my  most  intimate  friend.  In  truth,  we 
were  like  brothers.  I  sorrowed  for  him  as  David  for 
Jonathan."  • 

"  Then  you  know  Paul  Venner,  of  course  ?  "  said  I.    . 

"  Which  Paul  Venner  ?  "  he  returned.  "  Though,  to  be 
sure,  I  know  them  both." 

How  I  pricked  up  my  ears — and  my  hopes!  There 
were  two  Paul  Venners,  then?  Here  might  be  another 
comedy — no,  tragedy — of  errors  ! 

Holding  up  the  possibility  to  look  at  it,  I  saw  a  flaw. 


SHILOH.  455 

Doubtless,  the  twain  were  uncle  and  nephew.  And  it  was 
the  junior,  unquestionably,  that  was  reported  to  be  a 
candidate  for  matrimony.  My  ears  dropped;  my  hopes 
likewise. 

" I  mean  the  young  man,"  said  I ;  "do  you  know  if  he 
is  married  ?  " 

"  They  are  both  young  men,"  he  answered.  "  But  the 
question  of  marriage  settles  the  identity.  Paul  Venner,  of 
New  Orleans,  was  married  last  summer.  Do  you  know 
him?" 

"  I  have  heard  him  spoken  of,"  I  answered,  dryly,  thrust- 
ing down  by  the  strong  hand  an  inclination  to  "  speak  of  " 
him  myself,  nippingly  as  frost. 

Mr.  Watling  looked  at  me  sharply.  "  You  have  heard 
nothing  to  his  disadvantage,  I  am  sure ;  at  least  you  ought 
not  to  have  done.  He  is  a  fine  young  man,  as  young 
men  go, — which,  after  all,  is  saying  too  little  for  him, — 
most  young  men  go  to  the  bad  in  these  days.  But  his 
cousin,  Paul  Venner,  of  New  York,  is  a  finer  young  man 
still,  as  young  men  do  not  go,  brave  as  a  lion,  gentle  as  a 
lamb,  pure  as  a  vestal,  wise  as  a  sage, — another  Bayard, 
'without  fear  and  without  reproach.'  I  should  feel  con- 
siderably easier  about  our  country's  future  than  I  do,  if  I 
were  sure  that  Uncle  Sam  could  put  his  finger  on  fifty  more 
like  him,  at  need.  To  be  candid,  I  love  him  like  my  own 
son.  And  it  cuts  me  to  the  heart  that  he  should  be  going 
out  of  business  just  now,  when  the  commercial  world  needs 
men  like  him  so  much,  firm,  calm,  candid,  upright  men, — 
with  stamina  and  conscience  enough  to  resist  the  speculat- 
ing, defaulting,  stock-gambling,  gold-worshipping  tenden- 
cies of  the  times." 

I  pricked  up  my  ears  again.  This  sounded  like  Win- 
nie's first  mention  of  her  Paul !  She,  too,  had  quoted  the 
French  knight,  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche.  Was  there 
some  miserable  mistake,  after  all  ?  If  so,  it  was  my  duty 
to  ferret  it  out. 


456  SHILOH. 

"  And  why,"  said  I,  "  does  he  quit  business,  then  ?  " 
Mr.  Watling  sighed  and  shook  his  head.  "  I  suspect 
it  is  the  old  story — a  woman  who  '  would,  and  would  not.' 
Paul  owned  as  much  to  me  when  I  saw  him  last.  '  His  old 
future  was  slain  to  him,'  he  said.  '  He  must  build  a  new 
one  out  of  other  and  better  material.'  In  short,  he  had  de- 
termined to  study  for  the  ministry.  It  had  been  the  dream 
and  desire  of  his  youth,  but  he  had  given  it  up  at  his 
father's  request ;  he  wanted  his  son  beside  him  in  his  count- 
ing house.  He  was  not  sorry  that  he  had  yielded ;  his 
commercial  training  would  not  come  altogether  amiss  in 
the  ministry;  and  it  was  an  inexpressible  gladness  to  re- 
member that  he  had  been  by  his  father's  side  in  dark  days 
of  commercial  quake  and  distress,  and  had  been  a  stay  and 
a  comfort  to  him.  But  it  had  pleased  God,  now,  to  remove 
every  obstruction  from  his  onward  path ;  his  father  needed 
his  help  and  companionship  no  more ;  he  had  left  him  a  for- 
tune ampler  than  his  wishes  or  his  needs ;  he  saw  his  way 
quite  clear  before  him,  stripped  of  everything  to  hinder  his 
progress  or  divide  his  strength.'  I  grumbled  out  that  he 
would  only  spoil  a  good  business-man  to  make  a  poor  min- 
ister. '  I  think  not,'  he  answered,  quietly ;  '  I  have  lived  in 
and  of  the  world,  and  I  know  what  it  is  like.  I  have  been 
down  to  the  gates  of  death,  and  I  know  how  it  looks  from 
thence.  I  know  what  it  is  to  '  lose  all,  yet  find  all,'  and  I 
can  '  teach  men  so.'  And  you  would  be  the  last  man  on 
earth,  Mr.  Watling,  to  counsel  me  to  resist  my  convictions 
of  duty.'  So  I  could  only  wring  his  hand  and  let  him  go. 
But  I  have  not  done  mourning  about  it  yet." 

He  must  mourn  alone,  then !  My  call  was,  clearly,  to 
rejoice.  For  them  who  knew  not  yet  what  cause  of  re- 
joicing was  coming  to  them.  Coming — ever  since  the 
world  came  out  of  the  murk  of  chaos.  "  Prepared  "  before 
chaos  "was."  The  thought  took  my  breath  away.  It 
pitched  me  down,  headlong,  from  the  mount  of  joy  into 
the  valley  of  humiliation.  For,  all  this  time,  I  had  been 


SIIILOH.  457 

crying  out  against  God's  ways,  in  my  heart !  You  know 
I  never  distrusted  Him,  for  myself.  But,  for  my  friend,  I 
could  have  done  better,  I  thought ! 

So  it  was  not  a  "  miserable  mistake."  A  wholesome 
one,  instead,  of  the  Father's  own  making.  His  machinery 
for  cutting  and  polishing  a  pair  of  human  souls  into  fit- 
ness for  His  day  of  making  up  His  jewels.  His  veil  drawn 
between,  while  He  was  beautifying  them — each  for  the 
other,  and  both  for  Himself.  His  sign  and  seal  upon  His 
"  elect," — elected,  first,  to  the  purification  by  fire ;  next  to 
the  sweetness  and  the  hardships  of  His  service ;  finally,  to 
the  fulness  of  the  glory  to  be  revealed ! 

This  was  what  I  felt.  What  I  said — when  I  could  say 
anything — was  too  far  away  of  -  kin  for  kinship  to  be 
traceable. 

"  How  strange  that  two  cousins-german  should  bear  ex- 
actly the  same  name  !  It  must  give  rise  to  endless  confu- 
sion and  mistake." 

"  It  happened  naturally  enough,"  said  Mr.  Watling. 
"  Twenty-five  or  thirty  years  ago,  Amos  Venner  was  a  cot- 
ton planter  in  Texas,  and  Hugh  the  American  Consul  at 
Naples.  Sons  were  born  to  them,  within  a  fortnight,  or 
thereabouts,  of  each  other.  Letters  traveled  slowly  in 
those  days.  Both  the  children  were  christened  Paul,  in 
honor  of  their  paternal  grandfather,  before  either  brother 
knew  of  the  other's  good  fortune.  But  I  don't  think  it 
ever  caused  any  trouble.  They  have  lived  too  far  apart ; 
one  at  the  South,  the  other  in  Europe  or  New  York." 

I  denied  myself  the  pleasure  of  dispelling  the  illusion. 
I  was  in  a  white  heat  of  impatience  to  get  home  and  write 
to  Winnie, — "  Paul  is  not  married..  He  has  never  so  much 
as  dreamed  of  the  thing.  He  is  going  to  be  a  minister. 
He  has  buried  you  in  his  heart,  and  mourns  the  living 
dead.  Over  that  grave,  God  writes  '  Resurgam.'  For  He 
is  gracious,  and  His  mercy  endureth."  This  would  I 
write. 

20 


458  SIIILOH. 

But  there  must  be  something  more,  of  where  and  when 
and  why. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Paul  Yenner  is  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  In  New  Orleans ;  or,  it  may  be,  on  his  way  home. 
Most  likely  the  latter." 

"  Has  he  been  in  New  Orleans  all  summer  ?  " 

'Now,  Mr.  Watling  looked  at  me  suspiciously.  This 
persistent  questioning  about  a  stranger  began  to  strike  him 
as  odd,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  I  answered  his  look.  "  I 
ask  from  a  deeper  motive  than  curiosity.  I  take  an  inter- 
est in  Paul  Venner,  which  shall  have  a  future  explanation. 
Meantime,  it  will  do  no  harm,  and  may  do  good,  f6r  me  to 
know  what  have  been  his  outward  movements  since  last 
spring." 

"  First,"  replied  Mr.  Watling,  "  his  father  despatched 
him  to  New  Orleans,  on  important  business  for  the  firm. 
There,  it  was  decided  that  he  must  proceed  forthwith  to 
California.  He  returned  in  August,  to  find  his  father  look- 
ing ill  and  woi'n  ;  '  waiting,'  he  said,  '  for  Paul  to  come 
back  and  take  his  place,  so  that  he  might  give  up,  and  be 
sick  a  little  while.'  The  giving  up  was  final ;  he  died  a 
month  afterward.  For  a  time,  Paul  seemed  quite  stunned 
by  the  blow.  Then  he  came  to  the  decision  I  told  you  of. 
He  is  closing  up  the  business.  The  two  houses  having 
always  been  connected,  he  was  obliged  to  visit  New  Or- 
leans again,  two  or  three  weeks  ago,  for  consultation  with 
his  uncle.  It  is  about  time  for  him  to  return." 

Now,  I  had  got  all  I  wanted.  I  bade  Mr.  Watling  good- 
bye, hurriedly.  I  set  out  for  home  at  a  great  pace. 

On  the  way,  it  slackened.  Thoughts  came  to  me ; 
thoughts  and  a  question.  I  could  write  to  Winnie,  but 
she — would  she  write  to  Paul  Venner  ? 

I  tried  to  tell  myself,  Yes  ;  and  could  only  get  out  an 
unwilling,  No !  Womanly  pride,  womanly  delicacy, — fine- 
spun as  cobwebs,  yet  strong  as  steel, — these  would  hold 
her  back. 


SHILOH.  459 

I  sputtered  furiously  against  the  folly,  the  sin,  of  sacri- 
ficing the  happiness  of  two  lives  to  a  figment,  a  scruple,  a 
mere  conventionalism.  It  would  be  setting  up  an  image  of 
straw,  and  not  daring  to  knock  it  down.  Blenching  at  a 
moment's  pain,  and  going  out  deliberately  into  a  long  ag- 
ony of  years.  Sickening  at  a  little  drop  of  bittersweet, 
and  drinking  slowly  a  great,  bottomless  cup  of  gall.  In 
vain.  Over  all  my  resentful  metaphors  strode  that  relent- 
less, "  No."  It  set  its  foot  on  my  neck,  and  held  me  at  its 
mercy. 

With  clearest  soul-sight,  I  saw  what  she  would  write 
back.  "  Providence,  having  brought  me  so  much,  will 
surely  bring  me  the  rest,  in  His  good  time.  I  can  wait." 

And  what  then  ?  A  dull  pain  of  suspense,  a  slow  fever 
of  expectation,  a  growing  weight  of  patience.  Across 
that  peace  whereof  she  had  told  me,  "  flowing  as  a  river," 
I  should  have  thrown  a  long,  wavering  shadow  of  unrest, 
a  haunting  "  if,"  a  slow-dripping  "  when."  A  joy  with  an 
ache  in  it.  A  gift  with  a  sting  in  it.  No,  a  thousand 
times,  no  !  whatever  I  did,  I  wrould  not  do  that ! 

I  walked  slowly  enough  now,  and  pondered.  Cleai-ly, 
here  was  a  case  where  Providence  needed  an  instrument. 
None  more  ready  and  glad  than  I.  That,  sans  dire.  There- 
fore this  clue  had  been  put  into  my  hands.  What  was  I 
to  do  with  it  ?  The  answer  flashed  back,  as  along  an  elec- 
tric wire.  Give  it  to  Paul  Venner.  But  how  ?  I  did  not 
know  him.  Write.  An  anonymous  letter — 

I  stopped  short.  Anonymous  letters  are  instruments  of 
Satan.  Slimy,  as  with  the  trail  of  a  serpent  on  them. 
Smutched,  as  by  pitchy  hands.  Of  evil  reputation,  be- 
cause found  in  bad  company. 

Besides,  Paul  Venner  might  suspect  Winnie  of  having. 
Avritten  it.  I  flushed  all  over  at  the  bare  thought.  Nor 
did  it  help  me  much  to  pronounce  that  such  suspicion 
would  prove  him  unworthy  ever  to  have  stood  at  the  white 
portal  of  her  heart. 


460  S1IILOH. 

"What  I  did,  then,  should  be  done  openly.  I  took  my 
pen,  and  dashed  off  this  : — 

"  He  that  could  trust  his  happiness  to  so  fragile  a  thing 
as  a  flower,  deserved  the  swift  retribution  that  overtook 
him.  But  the  spring  will  bring  again  saiFrona  buds  as 
sweet  as  those  that  perished  with  their  mission  but  half 
fulfilled ;  and  for  hopes  which  we  mourn  as  dead,  there 
may  also  be  a  springtime  and  a  reblooming.  So  (speaking 
as  the  spirit  only  moveth  her)  saith 

"  FEANCESCA  GOLDEN." 

Reading  it  over,  I  thought  I  might  have  signed  it  "Py- 
thia,"  with  fitness  ;  it  sounded  oracular  enough.  But  its 
meaning  would  not  be  dark  to  Paul  Venner.  And  I  sealed 
and  sent  it  forthwith. 

Then  I  began  to  be  dubious.  I  discerned  that  none 
can  go  back  to  the  precise  place  in  life,  he  has  left  behind. 
Circumstances  have  dug  it  up,  or  built  a  Avail  around  it,  or 
greened  it  over,  or  blighted  it  with  barrenness.  Or  he  has 
grown,  or  dwindled,  and  no  longer  fits  into  it. 

Besides,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  perfect  reparation 
on  earth.  When  a  man  would  restore  the  fair  image  of 
Right  to  the  place  from  whence  he  stole  it,  the  old  niche  is 
filled  up  or  vanished.  He  must  take  up  with  the  one 
which  nearest  resembles  it ;  or  go  on  with  his  burden,  vow- 
ing to  steal  no  more. 

Perhaps  Winnie  and  Paul  have  lived  so  far  past  that 
old  point  of  divergence,  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  return  ! 
Perhaps  it  is  too  late  for  the  old  mistake  ever  to  be  set 
right.  Perhaps  Winnie's  love  is  dead,  as  she  thinks;  and 
not  in  a  trance,  as  I  have  taken  for  granted !  Perhaps 
Paul,  in  "  finding  all,"  counts  nothing  lost  !  Perhaps — 

I  am  in  a  state  of  mortal  bewilderment  with  all  these 
perhapses!  Write  quickly,  and  settle  me  into  a  certainty 
of  having  done  well,  or  ill ;  either  would  be  preferable  to 
these  doubts.  Thine,  FEANCESCA. 


XLIV. 


A  :NTOTE  OF  WAKNTVG. 
[Alice  Prescott  to  Francesco,.] 

'EAR  Mrs.  Golden :  I  am  sorry  to  have  to 
tell  you  that  Miss  Frost  is  very  ill — with 
that  dreadful  fever  which  has  already 
caused  us  so  much  sorrow.  Will  you  come 
to  her  at  once,  and  also  send  word  to  her 
uncle  in  New  York  ?  We  could  not  find  his 
address  among  her  papers,  and  none  of  us 
happen  to  know  it.  We  found  yours,  how- 
ever, and  therefore  I  write  to  you ;  indeed,  I  should  have 
done  so  in  any  case,  for  I  feel  certain  that  she  would  send 
for  you,  first  of  all,  if  she  could.  At  present  she  is  uncon- 
scious, and  recognizes  no  one. 

I  think  her  illness  began  early  last  week :  I  remember 
she  said  to  me  that  she  had  been  writing  you  a  long  letter, 
and  that  it  had  been  difficult  to  finish  it  satisfactorily ; — 
"  My  mind  seemed  all  afloat,  I  could  not  anchor  it  any- 
where," was  her  expression.  All  through  the  week  she 
was  not  quite  her  usual  active,  cheery  self ;  but  she  declared 
positively  that  she  was  "  not  sick,  only  tired  and  languid," 
and  as  Uncle  True's  death  had  left  us  all  in  an  exhausted 
and  dispirited  state,  it  did  not  occur  to  us  to  be  uneasy 
about  her  until  day  before  yesterday.  Then  grandma 
announced  that  it  was  "  high  time  to  take  her  in  hand,"  and 
did  so,  administering  medicine  and  forbidding  her  to  leave 


462  SHILOH. 

ner  room.  Yesterday  she  was  so  much  better  as  to  dissi- 
pate all  our  anxiety.  This  morning,  on  entering  her  room, 
I  was  terror-stricken  to  find  her  delirious ;  she  called  me 
"Annita,"  and  began  talking  to  me  in  Italian.  I  could  just 
make  out  that  she  fancied  herself  in  Italy.  We  sent  for 
the  doctor.  He  looked  very  grave,  and  told  us  "  it  was 
always  safest  to  prepare  for  the  worst,  while  hoping  for  the 
best." 

We  shall  send  to  the  depot  at  every  train,  after  to-mor- 
row morning.  Meanwhile,  be  quite  sure  that  she  will 
have  every  care  and  comfort.  Aunt  Vin  came  up  as  soon 
as  she  heard  of  her  sickness,  took  off  her  bonnet,  and  pro- 
claimed that  she  had  "  come  to  stay,  wanted  or  not."  She 
immediately  took  charge  of  the  sick-room,  and  she  is  a 
most  experienced  nurse.  As  for  Ruth  and  I,  either  of  us 
would  give  our  lives  for  Miss  Frost,  and  we  shall  not  leave 
her  a  moment.  Besides,  we  have  almost  too  many  offers  of 
help,  watchers,  etc. ;  there  has  been  a  continual  stream  of 
people  coming  and  going,  to  inquire  after  her  or  to  tender 
assistance,  ever  since  the  evil  tidings  went  out.  I  tell  you 
all  this,  that  you  may  know  that  there  are  plenty  of  loving 
hearts  and  willing  hands  about  her,  that  will  not  let  her 
miss  anything  they  have  to  give.  Still,  we  should  be  glad 
to  have  some  of  her  own  friends  here,  to  share  the  respon- 
sibility ;  and  we  thought  Mr.  Frost  might  wish  to  bring  a 
physician  from  the  city. 

Yours  truly, 

ALICE  PEESCOTT. 


THE    SPIRIT   OF    HEAVINESS. 

\Francesca  to  her  Husband.] 

is  little  more  than  a  week   sintfe  I  wrote 
you.    It  is  years  since  I  wrote  you.    The  one  be- 
ing the  literal  fact ;  the  other  the  felt  truth.    Such 
days  as  those  through  which  I  have  just  lived 
are  not  to  be  measured  by  clock-strokes.     They 
stagger  under  a  weight  of  event,  emotion,  pos- 
sibility, which  sets  the  night  afar  off  from  the 
morning,  and  the  morning  at  a  weary  year's  jour- 
ney from  the  night. 

Alice  Prescott's  letter,  herein  enclosed,  will  tell  you  all 
it  told  me.  Before  I  had  well  finished  it,  I  was  thrusting 
indispensables  into  a  travelling-bag.  On  my  way  to  the 
depot,  I  telegraphed  "  Uncle  John."  In  half  an  hour  I  was 
on  board  the  express,  dashing  southward.  Two  changes 
of  cars  and  eight  hours  of  travel  brought  me  to  Shiloh 
station  at  dusk. 

A  tall,  erect,  broad-shouldered,  gray-headed  man ;  keen 
of  eye,  benignant  of  face ;  with  an  enormous  black  dog  at 
his  side;  stood  on  the  platform,  expectantly.  Straightway 
I  went  to  him.  "  Mr.  Divine,  how  is  Winnie  ?  " 

The  answer  came  through  quivering  lips,  ending  with  a 
sound  akin  to  a  sob  : 
"  Sinking  fast." 
Recovering  himself,  the  fanner  asked,  "Are  you.  the 


464  SHILOH. 

only  one  ?  "  And  he  looked  behind  me  as  if  I  should  have 
been  leader  of  a  troop. 

"  The  only  one.  I  am  Francesca  Golden.  Is  not  Mr. 
Frost  arrived  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  telegraphed  him  at  once,"  said  I.  "  He  should  have 
been  here  first.  He  .had  not  half  the  distance  to  come." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is  that  this  is  the  last  train,  and  he 
cannot  get  here  now  till  morning,"  said  he.  "And  I'm 
afraid—" 

But  the  fear,  whatever  it  was,  would  not  "  out."  No 
need. 

I  got  into  the  wagon  without  another  word.  The  sta- 
tion was  on  a  hill,  lit  pallidly  by  the  latest  gleam  of  the 
west.  From  it  the  road  sank  swiftly  toward  the  shadow  of 
the  valley  below ;  hiding  itself,  as  it  went,  under  the  gloom 
of  trees.  We  sank  with  it,  drearily.  "  Sinking  fast,"  rever- 
berated dismally  through  my  heart.  Everything  was  sink- 
ing with  her,  into  the  dusk  of  grief,  the  blackness  of  des- 
pair, the  night  of  death  ! 

Clay  Corner,  with  its  clustering  lights,  its  hum  of  busi- 
ness, its  murmur  of  falling  water,  its  red  glow  of  a  black- 
smith's foi'ge,  was  quickly  reached,  and  left  behind.  In  the 
darkness  beyond,  the  fai'mer  found  voice,  and  even  a  degree 
of  eloquence.  Winnie's  goodness,  Winnie's  talents,  Win- 
nie's genuineness, — these  were  the  heads  upon  which  he  en- 
larged, as  if  enamored  of  the  subject.  Especially  did  he 
dilate  upon  her  unlikeness  to  "  city  folks,"  as  he  had  known 
them. 

"I  own  I  didn't  use  to  take  to  'em  much,"  said  he. 
"  There  was  more  '  fine  feather '  than  '  fine  bird '  about  'em, 
I  reckoned.  They  came  and  went  among  us  like  comets 
in  the  sky ;  no  great  shakes  for  light,  and  no  account  at  all 
to  steer  by.  They  sickened  us  with  their  condescension,  or 
riled  us  with  their  superciliousness.  They  left  their  religion 
at  home,  mostly,  in  their  five-hundred-dollar  pews  with 


SHILOH.  465 

their  gilt-edged  Prayer  Books.  They  had  plenty  of  bank- 
bills  for  pleasure, — dogs,  horses,  boats,  excursions,  and 
what  -not, — but  only  the  smallest  kind  o'  change  for  our 
contribution  box ;  and  they  seemed  to  think  we  was  well 
paid  for  giving  'em  up  our  best  seats  by  the  honor  they  did 
us  in  sitting  in  'em  once  a  day,  in  fine  weather.  They  were 
bothered  within  an  inch  of  their  lives  to  find  ways  to  kill 
time,  but  they  never  thought  of  giving  an  hour  to  our  Sun- 
day School,  or  our  poor,  or  our  Sewing  Society ;  or,  like 
Mrs.  Danforth,  they'd  make  a  great  show  of  work,  and  do 
a  little  something  just  as  long  as  they  could  have  their  own 
way,  and  no  longer  (at  least,  that's  the  way  s/ie  used  to  be, 
but  I  really  think  she's  improving,  too,  and  I  reckon  Miss 
Frost's  at  the  bottom  of  it !).  As  for  trying  to  find  out 
our  talents  and  helping  us  to  make  the  most  of  'em,  they'd 
sooner  their  own  would  rust  out  for  want  of  using  !  They 
lived  among  us  as  if  they  wasn't  of  us,  and  didn't  mean  to 
be.  And  they  never  left  behind  'em  any  idea  of  a  life  any 
higher  and  deeper  than  our  own ;  only  one  with  a  little 
more  surface  and  glitter. 

"  Now,  Miss  Frost  wasn't  none' of  that  sort.  She's  what 
I  call  a  lady,  through  and  thi'ough.  She  didn't  leave  her 
fine  breeding  nor  her  religion  behind,  when  she  came  into 
the  country.  She  was  just  as  polite  and  respectful  to  Uncle 
True's  gray  hairs  and  mine,  as  if  they'd  grown  on  mayors 
of  New  York.  She  was  never  a  mite  stuck  up,  to  anybody. 
She  spent  all  her  time  and  strength  in  our  service ;  and  she 
carried  her  talents  and  her  edication  in  her  hand,  ready  for 
anybody  that  wanted  'em  most.  She  went  right  into  our 
kitchens  and  bedrooms,  and  watched  by  our  sick  and  dying, 
just  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  ourselves ;  only  with  twice  as 
much  gentleness,  and  delicacy,  and  handiness.  And  there's 
no  end  to  the  good  she's  done,  when  you  come  to  reckon  it 
up ;  though  its  all  come  along  so  easily  and  naturally,  that 
you  wouldn't  know  what  to  lay  it  to,  if  you  didn't  keep 
your  eyes  open.  She's  made  another  creature  out  of  Ruth 
20* 


466  SHILOH. 

Winnot.  She's  done  everything  for  Alice.  She's  softened 
down  Mr.  "Warren  from  a  regular  bear  to  something  border- 
ing on  hiiman.  She's  won  all  Jack's  heart ;  and  if-  she'd 
only  been  spared  long  enough,  she'd  have  made  room  in  it 
for  something  else.  She's  managed — the  Lord  knows  how  ! 
— to  keep  peace  in  the  Sewing  Society,  though  some  of  the 
folks  in  it  go  together  like  fii-e  and  gunpowder.  But,  bless 
me,  I  couldn't  begin  to  tell  you  all  she's  done,  directly  and 
indirectly,  if  I  talked  from  now  till  morning  ! 

"  But  perhaps  the  best  of  it  all  was  the  way  she's  be- 
haved to  Mr.  Taylor.  She's  always  treated  him  with  as 
much  respect  and  consideration  as  if  he'd  been  a  Bishop ; 
and  she  paid  as  good  attention  to  his  sermons  as  if  he  was 
the  most  learned  man  on  earth, — though  everybody  knows 
she's  got  more  edication  than  ever  he  thought  of.  And  she 
has  always  supported  him  right  straight  through,  even 
when  she  didn't  quite  fall  in  with  his  way  of  thinking.  I 
remember  when  the  Sunday  School  was  reorganized,  she 
talked  over  a  plan  with  Priscilla  that  she  thought  was  just 
about  right ;  and  so  did  Priscilla.  But  when  Mr.  Taylor 
come,  he'd  got  his  mind  set  on  something  quite  different ; 
and  Priscilla  wasn't  going  to  give  in, — '  she  couldn't  recon- 
cile it  to  her  conscience  to  give  up  a  good  plan  for  a  poor 
one,'  she  said.  But  Miss  Frost  told  her  that  the  question 
between  the  poor  plan  and  the  good  one,  and  the  responsi- 
bility, too,  was  Mr.  Taylor's ;  the  only  question  for  them 
was  whether  they'd  submit  themselves  to  their  spiritual 
pastor,  and  gladden  his  heart  by  their  goodwill,  and 
strengthen  his  hands  by  their  example  and  influence;  or 
whether  they'd  set  themselves  up  in  opposition  to  him,  and 
give  rise  to  a  dissension  in  the  parish,  and  hinder  his  work, 
and  weaken  his  power  to  do  good  ;  and  so  Priscilla  had  to 
come  round.  And  there's  no  telling  the  good  of  such  an  ex- 
ample, from  such  a  person,  in  a  community  that  ain't  over- 
weighted with  reverence  for  anything  or  anybody,  and 
that  would*  just  as  soon  pick  a  quarrel  with  their  minister 


SHILOH.  467 

as  eat  their  victuals.  The  fact  is  she's  done  us  good,  some- 
how, every  day  of  her  life  since  she  come  here.  There  ain't 
many  city  folks,  I  guess,  that  have  made  such  a  record  of 
a  summer  in  the  country  as  the  recording  angel  has  written 
down  of  hers  !  " 

This  long  speech  did  not  run  its  course  without  interrup- 
tion. Thrice  a  shadowy  horse,  wagon,  and  driver  had  come 
out  of  the  dusk  before  us,  and  halted ;  a  voice,  nasal  per- 
haps, but  certainly  kind  and  interested,  had  propounded 
the  query,  "  How  is  Miss  Frost  ?  "  Without  drawing  rein, 
Mr.  Divine  had  responded,  "  Sinking  fast ;  "  and  the  vision 
had  disappeared  in  the  gloom  behind.  My  heart  ached 
anew  with  each  repetition  of  that  answer — sank  lower  as 
with  a  fresh  burden  of  despair. 

The  road  now  began  to  climb.  Reaching  a  level,  Mr. 
Divine  announced  that  we  were  on  "  Hope  Plain,"  and 
pointed  out  the  homes  of*  Mrs.  Danforth  and  Essie  Volger. 
Up  two  or  three  more  hills,  and  the  "  Gwynne  Place  "  rose 
duskily  into  the  darkening  sky.  I  shuddered  to  come  thus 
upon  places  made  so  vivid  to  my  imagination  through  Win- 
nie's graphic  picturings;  and  to  find  them  dim,  sombre 
shapes,  wavering  of  outline  and  vague  of  tint,  eluding  my 
straining  gaze  and  vanishing  into  gloom.  The  world  she 
had  evoked  seemed  fading — dying  with  her ! 

More  hills  to  climb  ;  more  jolting  ;  a  denser  shadow  of 
trees !  Then  a  little  white  church  reared  itself  lonelily 
upon  the  sky  before  us.  Now,  I  knew  my  ground.  Swiftly 
we  turned  the  corner,  gently  we  trotted  up  to  the  gate. 
The  large,  sloping-roofed,  venerable,  kindly  homestead  of 
Winnie's  story  and  my  dreams  rose  before  me. 

A  comfortable  vision  after  that  long,  dark,  heavy-heart- 
ed ride !  Bursting  with  light, — every  door  and  window 
contributing  its  cheery  quota.  Through  one  wide  portal, 
the  ruddy  glow  and  flame  of  the  kitchen  fire.  Between  its 
gleam  and  our  dusk,  a  short,  brisk  figure,  with  straight- 
down  skirts  and  flying  cap-borders,  hurrying  out  to  meet 


468  SHILOH. 

me.  Hearty,  homely  words  of  welcome,  of  sympathy,  of  an 
unconquerable  springiness  of  hope,  upon  its  lips. 

Can  you  guess  what  I  did  next !  Up  to  this  moment  I 
had  shed  no  tear.  Now,  the  kind  tone,  the  motherly  man- 
ner, overcame  me.  My  "windows  of  heaven"  were  opened. 
For  one  minute  there  was  a  swift  downpour. 

"  Come  right  into  the  kitchen,"  said  Mrs.  Divine,  "there's 
nobody  there.  The  rest  of  the  house  is  pretty  much  filled 
up  with  people  waiting  to  see  how  the-  fever  turns  with  Miss 
Frost.  I  told  'em  they  might  go  where  they  liked,  if  they'd 
keep  out  of  her  room,  and  leave  the  kitchen  clear  for  Fris- 
cilla  and  me  and  the  kitchen- work ;  that  needs  to  go  on  all 
the  more  regularly  when  there's  sickness  in  the  house.  And 
I've  got  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bite  all  ready  for  you." 

I  tried  to  decline  the  refreshment ;  I  desired  to  go  to 
Winnie  at  once.  But  there  was  no  resisting  Mrs.  Pivine's 
mingled  kindness,  peremptoriness,  and  good  sense. 

"You're  not  fit  to  go  just  yet;  and  there's  no  hurry — 
she  won't  know  you.  Take  your  tea  and  get  up  your 
strength ;  you  want  to  be  able  to  stay  when  you  do  go. 
We  try  to  keep  her  room  as  free  from  coming  and  going 
and  confusion,  as  possible.  Aunt  Vin  says  that  noise  and 
excitement  tells  on  the  nerves  of  sick  people,  even  when 
they  don't  seem  to  take  any  notice.  And  I  guess  she's 
right." 

The  kitchen  was  exquisite  in  neatness  ;  redolent  of  Mrs. 
Prescott's  spirit,  tempered  by  the  blither  one  of  her 
mother.  Mrs.  Prescott  herself  took  my  bonnet  and 
placed  my  chair.  She  was  quieter,  gentler  than  my  ex- 
pectation ;  but  I  remembered  that  sickness  and  death  had 
but  lately  visited  the  house,  and  that  one — perhaps  both  ! 
— had  crossed  its  threshold  again.  Wonderful  softeners 
they! 

As  I  sat  at  table,  a  slight,  graceful,  thoughtful-looking 
girl  stole  quietly  to  my  side,  and  kissed  me  silently,  with 
quivering  lips.  I  needed  no  telling  that  I  beheld  Alice 


SHILOH.  409 

Prcscott.  A  few  moments  after,  Essie  Volger  appeared, — 
a  fine,  open,  intelligent  face,  a  frank,  easy,  cordial  manner, 
both  a  little  shadowed  now  by  grief  and  anxiety.  With 
her,  came  Mr.  Taylor  to  wring  my  hand  and  utter  a  sym- 
pathizing, comforting  word.  All  these,  I  felt,  took  me  di- 
rectly into  their  hearts,  for  Winnie's  sake,  and  made  com- 
mon cause  with  me.  My  sorrow  was  theirs. "  One  prayer 
was  in  all  our  hearts — "  Spare  her,  good  Lord  !  " 

Alice  led  me  up  stairs.  Leo  followed  us,  with  grave 
and  dignified  aspect. 

In  the  little  entry  above,  on  a  large  chest,  in  a  position 
to  command  the  interior  of  the  sick-room  beyond,  a  boy 
sat  motionless,  sombre,  mute,  watchful. 

"  It  is  Jack  Warren,"  whispered  Alice.  "  He  will  stay 
here." 

Stirred  to  the  depths,  I  passed  on. 

A  large,  wainscoted  room,  with  the  bed  drawn  near  the 
middle,  for  greater  convenience  and  freer  air.  On  one  side, 
a  tall,  gaunt  woman,  her  finger  on  the  patient's  pulse,  her 
head  shaking  fatefully— Auntr  \7in.  Flung  down  at  the 
foot,  in  an  attitude  of  complete  dejection,  a  girl  with  au- 
burn hair.  "On  the  pillow,  a  wan,  wasted  face,  veiled  with 
stupor.  These  things  I  took  in  at  a  glance. 

The  girl  rose,  and  turned  round.  Xo  lovelier  counte- 
nance ever  lit  the  interior  regions  of  a  painter's  imagination. 
With  a  sob,  she  threw  herself  into  my  arms, — sweet,  lov- 
ing, impulsive  Ruth  Winnot,  gifted  and  stricken  by  Provi- 
dence as  at  one  blow. 

"  We're  amasin'  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Aunt  Yin. 
"  We've  been  in  a  state  of  expectoration  all  day,  and  we'd 
about  giv'  up." 

Alice  noiselessly  placed  me  a  chair  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  bed.  I  sat  down  and  looked  at  Winnie  through  my 
tears.  So  changed — oh  !  so  changed  ! 

"  Speak  to  her,"  said  Aunt  Vin,  "  and  see  if  she  reck- 
onizes  you." 


470  SHILOH. 

Once — twice — thrice,  I  called  her  name.  Into  it  I  con- 
densed an  agony  of  supplication  and,  tenderness  that  should 
have  brought  her  back  from  the  very  portal  of  the  grave, 
I  thought.  At  the  third  repetition  she  half-opened  her 
eyes,  murmured  something  in  Italian,  of  which  I  caught 
only  the  sombre  word  "  notte,"  and  relapsed  into  coma. 

"  Oh  !  this  is  too  much  ! "  I  groaned.  "  Not  to  knoAV 
me,  not  to  speak  to  me,  not  to  hear  what  I  would  say  to 
her  !  I  cannot  bear  it !  Oh  !  will  she  not  wake — will  she 
not  understand — just  for  one  moment,  before  she  dies  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  conjuncture,"  said  Aunt  Yin,  gravely.  "  The 
fever'll  turn  about  midnight,  I  guess.  What'll  follow,  I 
couldn't  intend  to  say ;  not  if  I'd  swallowed  the  pharma- 
copious  and  was  physician  in  ordinal  to  the  Queen.  "We 
must  do  our  best  and  wait  upon  the  Lord." 

The  evening  wore  slowly  on.  Intense  quiet  in  the  sick- 
room, broken  only  by  the  rattle  of  spoons  and  phials,  an 
occasional  remark  or  direction  from  Aunt  Vin,  and  faint 
sounds  from  below  indicating  the  coming  and  going  of  anx- 
ious and  sympathizing  friends. 

At  ten  o'clock,  Mr.  Taylor  stole  quietly  in,  knelt  by  the 
bed,  and  said  a  prayer  or  two  from  the  order  for  the  Visita- 
tion of  the  Sick,  in  low,  solemn  tones  that  only  seemed  to 
add  to  the  chamber's  hush.  They  were  folloAved  by  an 
"  Amen  !  "  so  loud  and  deep  that  it  startled  me.  Looking 
up,  I  saw  a  new  comer  in  the  entry,  by  Jack's  side.  The 
form  was  hidden  in  shadow,  but  the  rough,  leonine 
head,  the  deepset,  glittering  eyes,  could  only  belong  to  Mr. 
Warren  ! 

Then  the  sounds  from  below  ceased,  the  house  grew 
still,  the  long,  fateful  night-watch  began  ! 


THE    CRY    IX    THE    NIGHT. 

[Francesca  to  her  JETusband.] 

HILE  I  live,  that  night-watch  will  live,  too, 
in  my  memory.  I  wish  I  could  set  it  be- 
fore you,  reasonably  true  of  outline  and  col- 
oring! 

The  large,  low,  quaintly-furnished  room, 
dimly  lit  by  the  swealing  candle.  Two  open_ 
windows — one  merely  a  square  of  blackness, 
dense  shadow  laid  against  it,  like  a  thing  to 
be  felt ;  in  the  other,  the  dusky  foliage  of  a  lilac,  here, 
catching  the  light  from  within,  there,  vanishing  into  gloom. 
Without,  a  dark,  clouded  sky ;  an  atmosphere  still  and 
warm,  even  to  sultriness  ;  the  soft  murmur  of  the  brook 
flowing  in  the  meadow. 

On  the  bed,  the  sufferer's  motionless  form  and  pallid 
face  ;  low  moans,  as  of  pain,  breaking  at  intervals  from 
her  parched  lips.  Ruth  fanning  her,  with  a  tireless,  mo- 
notonous motion.  Alice  gliding  to  and  fro,  noiseless  as  a 
shadow ;  bringing  water  from  the  well,  ice  from  the  cellar, 
broths  and  decoctions  from  the  kitchen,  obedient  to  a  sign 
or  a  word  from  Aunt  Tin.  The  latter  personage  by  the 
bedside  ;  cool,  vigilant,  cautious,  and  prompt,  as  a  sentinel 
at  his  post  or  a  general  in  the  field. 

In  one  corner,  Leo,  observant,  alert;  with  an  expression 
almost  human  in  its  anxiety,  its  mournfulness,  and  its  in- 
telligence, upon  his  face. 


472  SHILOH. 

Just  outside  the  door,  the  dark,  watchful  gleam  of  Jack 
"Warren's  eyes.  Behind,  him,  indistinct  in  the  shadow,  his 
father's  saturnine  features.  In  the  room  beyond,  Essie 
Volger,  seated  by  a  table,  shading  her  eyes  from  the  light 
thereon.  Near  her,  a  sheen  of  silk,  a  sparkle  of  diamonds, 
a  rapid,  dramatic  gestui-e,  speaking  for  Mrs.  Danforth. 

Below,  Mrs.  Divine,  keeping  up  the  kitchen  fire  ;  can. 
die-stand  by  her  side,  Bible  in  her  hand.  Opposite  to  her, 
Uncle  True's  empty  chair  ! 

These  are  the  bald  details  of  the  picture.  By  the 
power  of  your  sympathy,  you  will  endow  them  with  truth- 
ful light,  shadow,  tint,  tone.  The  candle  will  be  less  an 
illumination  than  a  revealer  of  gloom.  The  faces  will 
darken  with  anxiety  and  whiten  with  dread.  The  atmos- 
phere will  be  full  of  the  breathlessness  of  approaching 
crisis. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  Winnie's  moans  ceased.  Her 
breath  grew  faint,  her  chest  scarcely  moved.  Her  pulse 
was  like  the  slow  lapping  of  a  retreating  tide.  Growing 
lethargy,  scarcely  distinguishable  .  from  death,  held  her 
more  closely  locked  in  its  embrace. 

Suddenly  a  harsh  sound  smote  the  night.  It  came 
nearer :  it  resolved  itself  into  a  trampling  of  horses,  a 
lashing  of  a  whip,  a  rattling  of  swift-revolving  wheels.  It 
swept  past  the  window,  and  was  quenched  in  a  moment,  at 
the  gate. 

Silence,  for  a  brief  space.  Then  a  slight  bustle,  a  sound 
of  voices,  from  below.  Presently,  a  rustling  on  the  stair- 
case; a  group  of  new-comers  in  the  doorway. 

I  recognized  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frost,  Flora,  Dr.  Heartwell. 
"We  greeted  each  other  gravely,  briefly, — as  people  do  greet 
by  deathbeds. 

Uncle  John  whispered  an  explanation.  "  Did  not  get 
your  telegram  till  this  afternoon — some  confounded  remiss- 
ness  at  the  office.  Came  to  Pontport  in  last  train — hunted 
up  a  carriage  and  driver — told  him  to  drive  like  Jehu,  for 
life  and — death." 


BHILOH.  473 

The  last  word  choked  him.  He  had  just  caught  sight 
of  Winnie's  corpse-like  figure.  He  stood  for  a  moment  si- 
lently regarding  her.  Then  he  turned  away,  .drawing  his 
hand  across  his  eyes. 

Dr.  Heart  well  wasted  no  time  in  courtesies.  He  went 
straight  to  the  bedside,  gave  the  patient  a  rapid,  compre- 
hensive glance,  tasted  the  contents  of  the  phials  on  the 
stand,  asked  Aunt  Vin  a  question  or  two,  and  vanished. 
In  a  moment  he  reappeared  with  a  flask ;  Alice  brought 
him  a  spoon ;  he  administered  a  dose  to  the  patient  with 
his  own  professional  hands.  Then  he  sat  down,  expectant. 

Now,  first,  I  discovered,  with  a  start,  that  still  another 
spectator  had  been  added  to  the  scene.  By  the  window, 
out  of  everybody's  way,  yet  where  he  could  command  a 
full  view  of  Winnie,  a  young  man  had  quietly  planted  him- 
self. Dark  hair ;  a  square  brow ;  a  calm,  clear  face  ;  an 
attitude  iv udy,  resolved,  and  patient:  these  traits  struck 
me  at  a  glance. 

Who  could  it  be,  I  wondered.  A  son  of  Mr.  Frost's  ? 
No,  he  had  none  grown  up.  A  friend  of  the  family, 
perhaps. 

Suddenly,  my  mind  swooped  upon  the  truth, — Paul 
Venner. 

I  went  to  him  and  held  out  my  hand.  "  You  received 
my  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  know  not  how  to  thank  you.  It  confirmed 
what  I  had  begun  to  suspect.  For  I  met  Frederick  Thome 
in  New  Orleans.  He  told  me — much  that  was  suggestive. 
I  found  your  letter  awaiting  me  in  New  York.  I  went  im- 
mediately to  Mr.  Frost's,  to  learn  if  Winnie  had  returned. 
I  met  your  telegram  there.  I  am  here." 

The  look  said,  "  Here,  because  it  is  my  right ;  here,  be- 
cause she  is  mine,  as  I  am  hers.  Here,  to  save  her  if  I 
may  ;  to  yield  her  into  God's  hands,  if  I  must." 

Another  hour  went  by.  Slowly,  as  if  stretching  its 
elastic  length  across  an  age.  Time  is  the  tent  of  Peri- 


474  SHILOIT. 

Benou,  in  the  Arabian  tale.  Capable  of  compression  into 
a  nutshell,  or  of  expansion  to  cover  a  kingdom. 

Dead  silence,  now.  Even  Dr.  Heartwell  and  Aunt  Vin 
spoke  no  more.  They  understood  well  enough  without 
words.  A  look,  a  gesture,  a  nod, — these  sufficed  for  con- 
cert of  aim  and  action. 

As  Winnie's  strength  declined,  their  vigilance  and  activ- 
ity increased.  There  was  something  awful,  thrilling,  sub- 
lime, in  that  struggle  with  death,  in  wrhich  they  were 
plainly  engaged.  No  inch  of  ground  was  to  be  yielded 
without  a  fight,  no  point  left  unguarded,  no  resource  un- 
tried. Again  and  again  they  rallied  Life's  forces  to  the 
battle. 

Of  the  two,  Aunt  Vin  seemed  most  persistent,  most  in- 
defatigable. Holding  fast  by  the  hem  of  Hope's  garment, 
she  would  not  once  turn  her  eyes  toward  the  Medusa-head 
of  Despair.  Woman's  patience,  woman's  intuition,  woman's 
trust,  in  the  long  run,  often  come  out  ahead  of  manly 
strength,  reason,  independence. 

Nevertheless,  the  battle  was  going  against  them.  I  read 
that  truth  in  their  set  lips,  their  anxious  faces.  Read  it  with 
alternate  fever  of  revolt  and  chill  of  despair.  In  my  heart, 
continual  beginnings  of  fervent  prayer,  losing  themselves 
in  vagueness,  ending  in  stony  despondency. 

A  little  past  midnight,  I  saw  Winnie's  lips  move.  I 
bent  over  her.  "  Lift  me  up,"  she  murmured,  faintly. 

Quick  as  thought,  I  was  put  aside.  Paul's  arms  were 
under  her ;  deftly,  tenderly,  he  raised  her. 

Not  less  prompt  Was  Aunt  Vin  with  a  spoonful  of  stimu- 
lant. As  it  touched  her  lips,  Winnie  half  opened  her  eyes. 
There  was  a  gasp,  a  sigh.  Her  head  fell  lifelessly  over 
upon  Paul's  arm.  The  unswallowed  liquid  flowed  from  her 
mouth. 

Aunt  Vin  laid  down  her  spoon  with  a  gesture  of  entire 
relinquishment,  needing  no  word  to  enforce  its  meaning. 

Dr.  Heartwell  turned  moodily  away.     In  the  faces  of 


SHILOH.  475 

'both,  at  that  instant,  was  even  more  of  discomfiture  than 
grief. 

For  a  moment  we  stood  looking  at  each  other,  in  ghastly 
silence.  We  had  seen — understood,  but  could  not  realize. 

Then,  manifestations  of  grief  broke  forth.  Variously, 
according  to  temperament.  None  are  made  alike.  God, 
who  rounds  no  two  pebbles  on  the  seashore  to  perfect  iden- 
tity of  shape,  molds  humanity  also  into  infinitude  of  form 
and  character. 

Mr.  Taylor,  hurrying  in  at  somebody's  frantic  call,  knelt 
and  began  the  Commendatory  Prayer.  I  believe  he  thought 
her,  not  dead,  but  dying.  The  solemn  words  brought  in- 
stant hush. 

Paul  gently  lowered  his  white,  motionless  burden  to  the 
pillow,  and,  with  one  arm  still  under  her  and  his  eyes  fixed 
on  her  face,  sank  upon  his  knees.  I  dropped  beside  him. 
Two  soul-cries,  voiceless  and  unheard  on  earth,  rang  pierc- 
ingly up  to  heaven.  Not  the  calm  "  Thy  will  be  done  !  " 
of  Christlike  power  and  patience,  but  the  sharp  passion  of 
anguish  that  once  echoed  over  the  waters  of  Gennesareth, 
"  Help,  Lord,  or  we  perish  !  " 

And  then,  there  came  to  pass  a  thing  so  marvelous  that 
I  should  fear  to  be  discredited  in  the  telling,  if  you  were  not 
the  listener.  One  of  those  strange,  unlooked-for  happenings 
that  reason  terms  "  coincidence,"  and  faith,  "  God." 

A  shrill,  sombre  cry  rang  through  the  chamber.  So 
sudden,  so  weird,  so  startling,  we  held  our  breath  in  super- 
stitious awe,  and  looked  fearfully  in  each  other's  faces. 
None  understood  its  import ;  none  could  tell  whence  it 
came ! 

There  ensued  an  intense,  terrified  silence.  But  some- 
thing awful  in  the  silence.  A  horror  that  had  suddenly 
come  out  of  it,  and  might  come  again. 

Two — three  minutes ;  they  seemed  like  hours  to  our 
strained  sense  and  shortened  breath. 

Once  again  it  smote  our  ears  ;   three  piercing,  rising- 


476  SHILOH. 

inflected  notes,  sad  as  a  human  wail,  sharp  as  a  cry  of  mor- 
tal distress. 

Afterward  a  rustle  of  the  lilac  leaves  behind  me. 

Now  I  began  to  understand.  I  breathed  again;  my 
chilled  blood  resumed  its  regular  flow. 

A  whippowill  was  hidden  in  the  lilac,  uttering  his  wild, 
lugubrious  cry  close  to  the  window.  Not  softened  by  twi- 
light distances,  as  usually  heard ;  but  loud,  shrill,  startling, 
because  so  near.* 

The  explanation  did  not  mitigate  the  wonder.  That  a 
bird  so  shy,  a  dweller  in  woods  and  by  streams,  haunting 
the  twilight,  escaping  into  the  darkness,  should  thus  ap- 
proach a  lighted  window  and  send  foi'th  his  voice  within  a 
few  feet  of  a  dozen  people,  was  a  circumstance  so  amazing 
as  to  leave  little  room  for  marvel  at  what  followed. 

For,  at  the  third  weird  repetition,  smiting  sharply  again 
the  chamber's  hush,  Winnie  lifted  the  eyelids  we  had  thought 
would  never  lift  more.  Suddenly,  as  if  startled  from  slum- 
ber by  the  strange  sound.  Quickly  her  eyes  went  round  the 
room,  seeking  its  cause. 

They  fell  on  the  circle  of  familiar  faces.  Perfect  con- 
sciousness, perfect  recognition  were  in  their  look. 

Lastly, they  rested  upon  Paul  Vernier.  A  swift  light  of 
joy,  slowly  clouded  by  a  vague  amaze,  a  struggling  recol- 
lection. 

He  leaned  down  over  her  close,  answering  them  with 
something  in  his  own  that  she  alone  saw.  She  read  it,  and 
was  satisfied.  The  estranged  hearts,  the  tried  souls,  met 
again.  Not  at  the  old  point  of  divergence,  but  at  a  new, 
diviner  point  of  union. 

The  boughs  of  the  lilac  tree  shook.     There  was  a  whirr 

O 

of  wings.  The  bird  of  the  night,  its  appointed  work  being 
done,  had  flown ! 


*  Lest  this  incident  should  seem  not  only  marvelous,  but  impos^ 
sible,  it  may  be  well  to  state  that  it  is  an  actual  occurrence. 


SHILOH.  477 

Its  work  ?  To  pierce  the  failing  sense  with  its  sharp 
cry.  To  reach  after  the  flying  consciousness,  and  startle  it 
back  to  its  place  and  its  function.  To  recover  lost  identity 
out  of  dreamless  void.  To  return  the  naked  soul  to  the  cast- 
off  garmenting  of  the  body.  To  bring  Winnie  back  from 
the  gate  of  death  to  the  gate  of  life,  that  Love,  standing 
there,  in  the  person  of  Paul,  might  seize  her  and  draw  her 
in.  So  said  I. 

But  Science,  in  the  person  of  Dr.  Heartwell,  said  some- 
thing else.  He  averred  that  Winnie  was  not  dead,  after 
all, — only  in  a  swoon.  That  consciousness,  struggling  up 
from  temporary  anaesthesia,  was  met  half-way  by  the  bird's 
shrill  cry,  and  startled  at  once  into  vigorous  action.  That 
wonder  and. joy,  together,  kindled  anew  the  failing  spark 
of  the  spirit,  and  sent  the  ebbing  life-current  back  to  the 
heart. 

What,  after  all,  is  the  difference  ? 

For  Science  did  not  attempt  to  explain  the  whippowill's 
temporary  forgetfulness  and  abdication  of  all  its  well-known 
habits.  Nor  why  it  happened  just  at  that  moment  and  at 
that  spot. 

Here,  finally,  Faith  (still  in  the  person  of  Dr.  Heartwell), 
had  somewhat  to  say.  That  science  always  has  to  stop 
something  short  of  the  Soul  and  its  Maker.  That  no  probe 
ever  yet  found  spirit,  though  it  made  the  opening  through 
which  that  etherial  tenant  escaped.  That  no  dissecting 
knife  ever  laid  open  its  structure  or  its  laws.  That  far  be- 
low the  point  which  science  reaches  and  explains,  the  finger 
of  God  works  on,  invisibly,  inscrutably.  That  any  science 
which  does  not  admit  this,  and  grow  humble  with  the  ad- 
mission, and  glad,  finally,  to  put  its  feeble  hand  into  that 
of  faith,  is  only  a  learned  ignorance. 

But  this  talk  came  afterward ! 

Commonplaces  thrust  themselves  into  the  tenderest, 
as  in  the  grandest  of  earthly  scenes.  Between  Winnie 
and  P,aul  came  Aunt  Vin's  prompt  spoonful  of  stim- 


478  SHILOH. 

ulant.  Meekly  Winnie  swallowed  it.  As  if  it  had  been 
nectar. 

Then  her  eyes  closed  wearily,  her  head  still  resting  upon 
Paul's  arm. 

Dr.  Heartwell  bent  over  her,  scanning  her  well.  Then 
he  came  toward  us.  "  There  is  hope !  She  sleeps  ! "  he 
whispered.  His  gesture  said  the  rest.  "  Clear  the  room. 
Leave  her  in  quiet." 

Is  joy  harder  to  bear  than  sorrow  ?     It  would  seem  so. 

For  no  sooner  had  we  reached  the  "  out-room,"  with  the 
door  shut,  than  sobs  and  tears  broke  forth.  The  long  ten- 
sion of  nerve  and  spii'it  gave  way.  Some  wept  silently  in  a 
corner ;  others  threw  themselves  into  the  nearest  arms  and 
shed  their  tears  in  common. 

A  sudden  crash  startled  us.  Amazed,  we  beheld  the 
articles  on  the  table  flinging  themselves  on  the  floor,  with- 
out hands.  Would  the  night's  wonders  never  cease  ? 

Alice,  coolest  of  us  all, — perhaps  because  the  vivid  glo- 
ries of  her  inner  world  of  imagination  make  all  outer  events 
seem  tame  in  comparison, — stooped  and  dragged  forth  from 
the  debris — Jack  Warren  ! 

The  boy  had  crept  under  the  table  for  his  own  private 
"  cry."  Thinking  Himself  not  sufficiently  concealed,  it  had 
occurred  to  him  to  pull  the  table-cover  further  over  from 
beneath.  Near  the  edge  were  books,  a  vase,  a  card- 
receiver,  a  candlestick.  These  fell  with  a  crash,  not  less 
startling  to' the  author  of  their  destruction,  than  to  us,  the 
astonished  spectators. 

Now,  the  full  reaction  came.  From  joyful  tears  to  joy- 
ous laughter  the  way  is  easy,  to  hearts  exhausted  with  deep 
emotion.  It  takes  but  little  to  set'  them  upon  that  path. 
Jack's  misadventure  sufficed  for  us.  And  the  laugh  let  us 
down  easily  into  sober  gladness  of  heart. 

Then  Dr.  Heartwell,  standing  on  the  hearth,  ordered  us 
all  peremptorily  to  bed. 

"  For  there  is  plenty  of  nursing  and  watching  yet  to  be 


SHILOH.  4T9 

provided  for,"  said  he.  "  It  will  be  days  before  Winnie  is 
past  danger.  You,  Francesca  Golden,  must  be  ready  to 
take  that  queer  old  nurse's  place  in  the  morning ;  she  will 
need  rest  by  that  time,  though  she  is  made  of  steel.  To- 
night, there  will  be  but  little  to  do.  Winnie  will  sleep 
most  of  the  time.  And  if  'Axint  Vin '  (is  that  what  you 
call  her  ?)  wants  help,  she  has  it  at  hand.  Mr.  Venner  is  a 
fixture  in  that  room,  for  the  present,  I  suspect !  Mrs. 
Divine,'1 — with  a  wide,  bottomless  yawn, — "  where  shall  I 
find  a  'shakedown'*" 

So,  Paul  Venner  and  Axmt  Yin  kept  the  rest  of  that 
night-watch. 

They  were  very  quiet,  peaceful  days  that  followed. 
Winnie  was  too  weak  to  talk  or  to  listen.  But  her  face 
was  full  of  a  deep  content,  a  quiet  joy,  that  could  wait  for 
utterance.  Much  of  the  time  she  slept,  recruiting  so  the 
waste  of  disease. 

It  was  a  week  before  Dr.  Heartwell  would  let  us  talk  of 
the  past.  When  the  full  explanation  came,  it  was  no  longer 
needed.  Mutual  love,  mutual  trust,  had  carried  them  far 
past  that  point.  They  felt  the  blessedness  of  faith  in  each 
other,  "  without  sight." 

Each  would  have  assumed  the  whole  blame  of  the  mis- 
understanding. "  Forgive  me,"  said  Winnie,  "  I  ought  to 
have  known  you  better." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Paul,  "  I  ought  not  to  have  trusted 
a  flower,  nor  a  circumstance.  In  such  a  matter,  a  man 
should  ask  and  wait  for  the  spoken  word,  the  unmistakable 
yea  or  nay." 

Easy  to  see  it  now !  For  moments  like  these  are  the 
mountain-tops  of  life,  giving  one  a  clear  outlook  before  and 
behind.  Happy  they  who  find  wisdom  there,  to  carry  with 
them  down  to  the  valleys  ! 

So  I  left  them.  For  home  needed  me,  now,  more  than 
they.  Sufficient,  henceforth,  each  to  the  other. 


STRIKING   TENT. 

ERE  beginneth  the  end,  Francesca.     The 
end  of  the  old  life,  the  beginning  of  the 
new.     For  all  life's  ends  are  beginnings, 
till  its  final  end  begins  the  Endless. 

I  have  sent  them  all  out, — Ruth,  Alice, 
Essie,  Flora, — fluttering  down  the  staircase 
in  their  snowy  draperies  like  a  flock  of  white 
doves; — the  last  moments  of  Winnie  Frost  shall  be 
given  to  you.  If  that  white-robed  vision  which  I  beheld, 
just  now,  in  the  ancient  mirror  over  the  modern  toilet-table 
be  really  she, — for  I  have  my  doubts  !  It  was  so  different 
from  anything  I  have  seen  there  before, — so  softly  radiant 
with  happiness,  as  if  diaphanous  and  lit  from  within, — 
that  I  failed  to  recognize  it  for  an  acquaintance. 

Yes,  let  me  write  it  down  and  ponder  it  well, — I  am 
happy !  Not  through  any  seeking,  planning,  or  expecta- 
tion of  my  own,  but  by  the  gracious  gift  of  God.  That  is 
what  makes  it  so  sweet ;  because  it  is  so  manifestly  of  His 
providence,  so  straight  from  His  hand.  The  cup  of  earthly 
pleasure  which  we  mix  for  ourselves  hath  ever  its  great 
drop  of  bitterness  at  bottom ;  but  "  His  blessing  maketh 
rich,  and  he  addeth  no  sorrow  with  it."  The  happiness 
that  He  gives ;  springing  out  of  sorrow  and  ripened  out  of 
pain  ;  holding  the  promise  of  the  life  that  is  to  come,  as 
well  as  of  that  which  "  now  is  ;  "  is  happiness  indeed  ! 
Best  and  beautifullest  of  it  all  is  it  to  feel  how  tenderly 


SHILOH.  481 

God  has  been  leading  me  hither,  all  these  days ;  that  the 
error,  the  separation,  the  pain,  the  complete  relinquishment 
of  hope,  were  only  so  many  necessary  steps  to  this  end.  Be- 
yond all  question,  Paul  and  I  needed  just  the  lessons  that  we 
have  learned.  Without  them,  our  present  joy  would  lack 
its  subtlest,  most  enduring  flavor;  our  future  relation  be 
robbed  of  its  most  quickening  and  preservative  element. 
The  fact  is  profoundly  suggestive.  Perhaps  the  most  won- 
drous of  all  the  wonderful  revelations  of  the  Last  Day,  will 
be  that  those  very  burdens  and  trials  under  which  we  were 
most  restive, — which  seemed  absolute  hindrances  to  our 
power  of  being  or  of  doing  good, — the  cups  which  we  prayed 
most  earnestly  might  pass  from  us,  and  which,  if  Christ  had 
been  a  Deliverer  from  present  trouble  instead  of  future 
woe,  He  would  surely  have  removed; — that  these  were 
the  very  steps  by  which  we  climbed,  with  His  help,  to  our 
place  in  the  heavenly  habitations. 

It  is  good  to  be  able  to  take  this  lesson,  this  realization, 
into  coming  times  of  trial.  For  happiness,  I  know  well,  is 
no  lasting  condition  of  human  life  ;  save,  perhaps,  as  an  in- 
ward spring  ;  never  as  an  outward  cii-cumstance.  Hearts 
that  rest  upon  God  will  have  their  inward  sun  shining  be- 
hind and  gilding  all  earth's  clouds  ;  but  the  clouds  will 
visit  them  none  the  less  with  needful  shadow  and  rain. 
Life  will  be  a  battle-ground  and  a  conflict  all  the  same, 
with  inevitable  foes  of  sin  and  mortal  calamity  standing  in 
array  ;  though  Divine  and  earthly  love  combine  to  arm 
and  to  strengthen  us  for  the  fight. 

Not  for  earthly  bliss  merely,  or  mainly,  therefore,  do 
we  join  hands  ;  but  for  mutual  help,  comfort,  elevation  ; 
mutual  strengthening  of  heavenly  hope  and  faith  ;  mutual 
encouragement  in  a  life  of  earnest  striving  toward  the 
right.  And  so  long  as  we  keep  faith  with  each  other  in 
this  point,  we  may  look  hopefully  for  God's  blessing  on 
our  union.  Along  the  borders  of  the  path  that  tends  to- 
ward higher  things,  He  will  graciously  cause  the  human 
21 


482  SHILOH. 

happiness  that  we  do  not  live  for,  to  blossom  as  a  wayside 
flower,  or  gush  forth  as  a  wayside  spring, — full  of  casual 
sweetness,  full  of  unexpected  refreshment, — and  leading  us 
continually  more  and  more  to  acknowledge  His  wisdom, 
and  praise  His  goodness.  This,  we  dare  to  hope.  For  we 
have  not  hesitated  to  tell  each  other  frankly  that  we  could 
have  done  without  each  other,  if  He  had  so  willed.  Our 
onward  lives  had  ceased  to  look  dark ;  the  love  of  Christ 
would  have  been  sufficient  for  us,  here,  not  less  than  here- 
after. Do  we,  therefore,  love  each  other  less  ?  No  !  more 
— infinitely  more !  Not  till  His  human  children  have 
learned  to  hold  all  love  as  subordinate  to  His,  does  God 
pour  into  their  hearts  the  richest  treasures  of  earthly  affec- 
tion. When  the  gift  will  no  longer  harm,  but  wholly  bless, 
He  gives  it  to  them  without  stint.  "  Seek  first  the  King- 
dom of  God  and  His  righteousness,  and  all  these  things 
shall  be  added  unto  you." 

Pray  for  us,  Francesca,  that  we  may  so  seek,  and  so  be 
added  unto ! 

But  the  moments  are  gliding  fast,  and  I  forget  that  you 
are  still  in  the  dark  upon  several  important  points  ;  I  think 
nothing,  save  the  wedding  day,  was  fixed  when  I  Avrote 
you  before, — all  else  was  undelightfully  chaotic. 

Dr.  Heartwell  came  to  our  help  at  last — Paul's  and 
mine — and  forbade  that  grand,  glittering,  wearisome  city 
wedding  which  we  so  deprecated,  but  upon  which  Aunt 
Belle  had  set  her  heart. 

"  If  you  want  to  kill  your  niece  outright,"  said  he, 
bluntly,  "  drag  her  through  all  that  parade  and  fatigue,  for 
which  she  has  neither  strength  nor  nerves  ;  and  you  can't 
well  miss  of  your  aim.  But  if  you  want  her  to  live, 
marry  her  the  quickest  and  speediest  way  possible,  and  get 
her  out  of  this  climate  before  Old  "Winter  is  upon  us  in  good 
earnest.  There  is  a  spark  of  pulmonic  disease  about  her 
which  he  might  fan  into  a  flame  :  a  warm  climate  will 
quench  it.  If  you  must  make  a  fuss  over  her,  Mrs.  Frost, 


SHILOH.  483 

do  it  when  she  conies  back  next  April,  well  and  strong. 
Then  you  may  give  her  the  most  costly,  fashionable,  and 
absurd  '  reception  '  that  you  and  Brown  and  Delmonico 
can  devise  among  you.  But  not  before,  with  my  consent." 

There  was  no  disputing  professional  dictum  like  this  ; 
and  Aunt  Belle,  finding  that  she  must  needs  yield  the 
point,  was  good  enough  to  do  it  gracefully. 

She  is  here;  so  are  Uncle  John  and  Flora  and  the 
younger  ones,  down  to  that  unconscious  agent  of  Provi- 
dence, little  Bella.  The  old  house  is  brimming  over  with 
guests  ;  yet  not  more  so  than  the  hearts  of  its  owners  with 
genuine,  old-time  hospitality, — neither  overlabored  nor 
overcareless, — giving  of  its  best  as  freely  as  the  sky  of  its 
sunshine,  and  with  as  little  self-misgiving.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Divine  were  never  more  easy,  more  unembarrassed,  more 
wholly  themselves,,  than  now.  Aunt  Belle  looks  at  them 
with  growing  wonder  and  respect ;  she  will  carry  some 
new  lights  upon  farmers  and  farm-life  back  to  her  aristo- 
cratic home. 

The  old  house  is  full  of  cheer,  too,  but  of  a  subdued 
and  heart-deep  kind  ;  none  that  need  turn  aside,  in  its  ful- 
lest flow,  from  Uncle  True's  chair ;  which  Alice  has  had 
the  lovely  inspiration  to  wreathe  with  white  flowers,  fast- 
ened here  and  there  by  dainty  bows  of  soft,  white  ribbon. 
The  same  pure  taste  and  felicitous  touch  have  been  busy 
throughout  the  house,  causing  flowers  to  fall  and  cling  to- 
gether everywhere,  in  such  wise  as  must  needs  have  sprung 
from  the  unhindered  operation  of  their  own  sweet  laws  of 
being ;  and  using  autumn  leaves,  where  flowers  grew 
scarce,  with  wonderful  richness  and  harmony  of  effect. 
To  me,  the  latter  have  the  deeper  meaning.  The  fullest 
beauty  of  life  and  love  has  been  revealed  to  me  through 
the  frost-touch  of  sorrow. 

What  further  miracles  of  decoration  Alice  and  her 
corps  of  assistants  have  wrought,  over  at  the  church,  re- 
mains to  be  seen.  I  only  know  that  they  have  been  busy 


484  SHILOH. 

there  half  the  morning,  and  that  Aunt  Belle  took  care  that 
they  should  be  amply  supplied  with  flowers. 

For  we  are  to  be  married  in  St.  Jude's,  Mr.  Taylor  offi- 
ciating. All  Shiloh  will  be  there  to  see,  if  it  pleases.  For 
all  Shiloh  is,  in  one  sense,  a  friend. 

We  go  to  Cuba  for  the  winter.  Alice  accompanies  us ; 
I  cannot  yet  do  without  my  deft  little  hand-maiden,  who 
has  been  hands  and  feet,  strength  and  motion,  to  me,  so 
long.  During  my  illness,  I  learned  to  value  her  as  she 
deserves.  Her  quick  insight,  which  used  to  annoy  me  so 
much,  was  a  rare  treasure  in  my  sick-room ;  divining  what 
I  wanted  before  I  knew  it  myself.  Moreover,  I  desire  to 
kindle  her  imagination  and  enrich  her  memory  with  tropi- 
cal pictures — palms  waving  and  shimmering  in  moonlight 
glory,  the  golden  gloom  of  orange  groves,  the  rythmic 
tread  of  the  breeze  in  the  canefield,  the  purple  distances  of 
starry  nights ; — sometime,  perhaps,  to  be  distilled,  by  her 
thought-alembic,  into  verse  that  shall  set  them,  in  all  their 
finest  essence  and  deepest  sentiment,  before  eyes  that  every- 
where long  for,  yet  are  denied  the  actual  sight.  The  trip 
will  not  unhinge  the  self-poised,  self-moved  little  maiden. 
She  will  come  back  to  the  old,  quiet  life,  with  vision  cleared 
to  discern  its  hidden  beauty  and  value ;  to  brighten  the 
venerable  house  with  her  quickened  thought  and  fuller 
knowledge ;  to  be  Mr.  Taylor's  faithful  helper ;  to  succeed 
me  in  my  secretaryship  and  Sunday  teaching ;  to  take  up 
whatever  work  I  lay  down,  and  carry  it  forward  to  better 
end,  I  hope,  than  I  have  done.  Sometime,  too,  I  trust,  to 
become  the  centre  and  light  of  a  home  of  her  own ;  which, 
I  now  have  good  reason  to  believe,  will  also  be  the  home 
of  Harry  Burcham. 

A  few  days  ago,  I  laughingly  hinted  this  conviction  to 
Ruth.  She  heard  it  in  silence,  turning  her  face  away. 
When  her  time  for  practice  came,  instead  of  the  vocalizes 
which  I  expected,  there  rose  from  the  outroom  a  song  (if 
song  it  could  be  called,  that  had  no  distinguishable  words, 


SHILOH.  485 

only  a  wild  melody),  which  seemed  to  give  full,  fit  expres- 
sion to  every  pang  and  pain  that  could  rend  a  human 
heart.  Never,  it  seemed  to  me,  were  tones  so  deeply 
pathetic*  so  exquisitely  sweet,  so  heart-breakingly  mourn- 
ful. Sorrow  seemed  to  have  been  molten  into  music.  I  held 
my  breath  to  listen,  with  unconscious  tears  in  my  eyes. 

But,  while  the  anguish  was  yet  at  its  profoundest  depth, 
the  voice  seemed  to  soar  out  of  it,  as  it  were,  and,  with 
only  enough  of  sorrow  left  for  richest  sweetness,  gradually 
to  rise  and  float  out  of  hearing. 

x  And  thus  was  it  revealed,  to  Ruth  and  myself,  that  she 
has  the  faculty  of  musical  improvisation !  So,  when  Sig- 
ner Canto  gets  his  coveted  pupil,  he  will  find'  her  even  more 
gifted  than  he  expects.  And  he  will  get  her  very  soon. 
For,  it  has  been  arranged  that  Ruth  shall  take  my  vacant 
place  in  Uncle  John's  household,  this  winter.  Flora  has 
taken  an  immense  fancy  to  her  ;  so  has  Uncle  John ;  even 
Aunt  Belle  has  been  quickened  into  «un  wonted  kindliness  of 
interest  by  her  beauty,  her  talent,  and  her  misfortune.  In 
the  spring,  when  Paul  and  I  return  to  set  up  our  temporary 
home  in  the  city,  during  the  prosecution  of  his  theological 
studies,  she  will  come  to  us.  So  far  as  human  prevision  goes, 
Ruth's  future  is  assured.  Needless  to  add  that,  so  far  as 
human  plans  and  purposes  are  of  avail,  it  will  be  musical. 
That  is  her  desire. 

" I  must  give  my  life  to  music,  now"  she  said  to  me, 
recently,  with  an  unconscious  betrayal  of  some  hidden  dis- 
appointment, some  incommunicable  sorrow.  "And  some- 
time, no  doubt,  I  shall  be  quite  happy  in  it,"  she  added, 
sighing  low,  yet  with  eyes  deeply  lit  by  inward  resolve  and 
hope.  Her  genius,  baptized  in  pain,  will  now  soar  on 
strong  and  purified  wing  ! 

Essie  came  to  me,  a  few  days  since,  with  a  blush  on  her 
cheek  and  a  new  sweetness  in  her  blue  eyes.  She,  too,  is 
won.  I  have  promised,  if  I  am  in  life,  to  be  here  for  her 
wedding  in  the  spring.  I  am  glad  to  be  furnished  with  so 


486  SHILOH. 

pleasant  an  excuse  for  an  early  visit  to  Shiloh ;  a  spot  that 
will  always  be  thickly  embroidered  with  golden  memories 
and  suggestions.  I  came  to  it  seeking  rest.  I  got,  first, 
work ;  then,  peace ;  finally,  joy.  It  may  be  a  type.  For 
all  healthful  life  is  labor,  death  may  be  only  a  peaceful 
sleep,  and  heaven  is  surely  joy  ! 

I  learn  that  Mrs.  Thorne  is  slowly  getting  the  better  of 
the  paralytic  attack,  but  will  probably  be  more  or  less  of  an 
invalid,  for  the  rest  of  her  days.  Carrie,  of  course,  is  with 
her.  So  are  Rick  and  Pearl.  The  latter  will  soon  be  in 
the  enjoyment  of  their  inheritance.  Paul  saw  a  good 
deal  of  them,  at  New  Orleans,  and  liked  them  much.  He 
avers  that  Pearl  has  only  enough  of  singularity  left,  to 
make  her  charming ;  and  that  the  twain  are  excellently 
well  suited  to  each  other.  A  degree  of  friendship  sprang 
up  between  him  and  Rick,  out  of  which  grew  certain  con- 
fidences that  prepared  him  for  your  letter,  and  helped  to 
interpret  its  meaning.  • 

Mrs.  Danforth  is  still  here  ;  also  her  diamonds.  Both 
will  lend  their  brilliancy  to  my  wedding.  But  they  are 
not  so  inseparable  as  formerly ;  the  lady  is  sometimes  seen, 
now,  without  the  jewels.  She  said  to  me,  this  morning, 
laughingly  indicating  them, — 

"  It  is  the  last  time  that  they  will  go  into  St.  Jude's ; 
and  they  will  certainly  never  go  into  any  other  church,  ex- 
cept to  do  honor  to  a  wedding !  I  have  learned  better 
than  to  wear  them  to  service.  I  wonder  that  I  ever  had 
the  bad  taste !  So  much  good,  you  see,  if  no  more,  has 
grown  out  of  my  exile  in  Shiloh, — slow,  stupid,  dear,  de- 
lightful spot !  " 

That  exile  is  almost  over.  Mr.  Danforth  is  expected  on 
the  next  steamer,  his  business  having  been  brought  to  a 
satisfactory  and  prosperous  termination. 

Harry  Burcham  cannot  yet  leave  his  father  in  that  des-v 
olate  home.     It  is  probable  that  he  will  never  return  to 
Italy,  except  for  a  visit.     Life  has  shifted  its  human  prom- 
ise, its  best  reality,  to  Ms  native  land. 


SHILOH.  487 

The  question  of  the  ownership  of  Leo,  mooted  by  Har- 
ry, was  referred  to  Leo,  himself.  The  two  masters  shook 
hands,  separated  in  opposite  directions,  and  each  called  the 
dog.  There  was  a  moment  of  hesitation  ;  then,  Leo  rub- 
bed his  head  against  Harry's  hand,  by  way  of  farewell, 
and  followed  the  master  whose  life  he  had  saved,  and  whom 
he  had  served  so  long  and  so  well.  If  he  had  done  other- 
wise, I  think  it  would  almost  have  broken  the  farmer's 
heart !  Certainly,  it  is  best  so.  For  both,  alas  !  are  grow- 
ing old.  Let  the  last  sands  of  their  simple,  genuine,  and 
unselfish  lives  run  out  together  ! 

Dear,  noble,  absurd  Aunt  Vin  was  one  of  the  visitors 
turned  out  of  my  room  at  the  beginning  of  this  epistle. 
"  She  had  come,"  she  said,  "  to  offer  me  her  conglomerations. 
Also,  to  utter  a  Jeremy ;  Shiloh  would  be  as  dissolute  as  a 
grave  without  Alice,  and  Ruth,  and  me."  She  has  prom- 
ised to  visit  me  in  my  own  home.  Aunt  Belle  could  not 
refrain  from  a  comic  lifting  of  her  eyebrows,  when  she  heard 
the  invitation  given  and  accepted ;  doubtless,  she  was  pic- 
turing Aunt  Vin's  introduction  to  some  of  our  city  friends. 
Nevertheless,  even  she  has  learned  to  esteem  the  faithful, 
self-devoted  nurse  at  an  approximation  to  her  real  value ; 
and  Aunt  Vin  will  meet  with  all  due  courtesy  at  her  hands. 

In  Mr.  Warren  there  is  no  positive  change  for  the  better. 
The  most  that  can  be  said,  is  that  he  is  less  cynical,  less 
morose,  less  ready  with  his  scepticism,  than  formerly.  Also, 
he  has  taken  to  studying  the  Bible ;  but  whether  to  find 
matter  for  cavil  or  for  faith,  I  know  not.  But  his  wife 
hopes  and  prays. 

Mrs.  Prescott  will  be  left  to  carry  on  the  Sewing  Society, 
and  other  lay  Church-work,  almost  alone.  She  will  do  it 
with  more  tact  and  discretion  than  formerly,  I  think ;  she 
cannot  do  it  with  more  zeal,  perse vei*ance,  and  singleness  of 
heart.  With  all  her  faults,  would  there  were  more  like  her ! 

Mr.  Taylor  is  still  in  that  spell-hedged  dwelling, — the 
Gwynne  Place, — whereof  it  is  yet  to  be  written  that  ever 
Angel  of  Life  or  Death  has  crossed  its  threshold.  His  work 


488  SHILOII. 

in  Shiloh,  so  far  as  his  temporal  support  is  concerned,  at 
least,  will  rest  hereafter  upon  a  more  assured  basis.  As 
a  thank-offering  to  God  for  His  tender  mercy  toward  us, 
Paul  has  bestowed  upon  St.  Jude's  an  ample  endowment. 
Many  would  consider  it  wasted  upon  a  place  so  small,  so 
out  of  the  way,  and  so  sparsely  populated  ;  but  he  thinks 
otherwise.  These  by-ways  of  New  England,  he  says,  these 
quiet,  out-lying  farm  districts,  hidden  away  among  the  hills, 
are  the  sources  whence  the  waste  of  our  towns  and  cities 
is  largely  supplied ;  whence,  too,  the  great  West  draws 
much  of  its  best  brain  and  energy.  It  behooves  us  of  the 
city,  therefore,  to  see  to  it  that  these  springs  of  our  being 
are  not  poisoned  by  indifference  or  infidelity ;  that  this 
strength,  wherewith  we  continually  recruit  our  exhausted 
energies,  is  not  of  the  Spirit  of  Evil,  unto  destruction,  but 
of  the  Spirit  of  Good,  unto  God. 

And  Bona  and  Mala  ?  Both  remain  with  me.  My  heart 
is  still  to  be  shaken  and  trampled  by  their  irreconcilable 
warfare ;  the  entity  called  "  I "  is  still  to  be  tossed  to  and 
fro  on  the  tide  of  battle,  the  will  burdened  with  the  ever- 
recurring  necessity  of  declaring  for  one  or  the  other.  Every 
life,  which  is  not  all  a  miserable  defeat,  must  needs  be  a 
conflict.  The  hour  of  death,  only,  is  the  hour  of  complete 
victory.  Thanks  be  to  God,  who,  in  that  hour,  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  maketh  us  "  more  than  conquerors ! " 

And  now,  oh,  Francesca !  they  call  me  Winnie  Frost  no 
more !  But  not  less  faithfully  yours  is 

WINNIE  VENNEK. 


THE   END 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS3354  .W8s   1872 


L  009  544  544   1 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  284  638    2 


